


Interim

by Javanne



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 1904, F/M, M/M, They're all growing up - awww, War is coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:44:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 128,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Javanne/pseuds/Javanne
Summary: For KuroshitsujiOnKrack, who asked for more of Madame Administrator and the back office Reapers. Begins two years after A Small Kindness.





	1. Madame Administrator approves a request

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KuroshitsujiOnKrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroshitsujiOnKrack/gifts).



Madame Administrator considered the file of Mr. Alan Humphries.

Mr. Alan Humphries was a Senior Collections Agent of the London Dispatch. Fifteen years before, he had broken the Rules and suffered mightily for it. He was the Avowed Partner of Senior Collections Agent Eric Slingby, who was also a Senior Mentor. Slingby had broken the Rules many times over and had gotten off very lightly. Both their dossiers showed that careful wording which was characteristic of Director William T. Spears presenting a situation in the best possible light. Madame, as a forensic auditor, was expert at decoding such glosses. 

Indeed, Madame Administrator, who had backed Spears' request to resurrect them both after their dramatic demise, knew rather more about them than Spears did. Director Spears' talent was planning, not people. When he met behavior he could not understand he took refuge in the rule book.

Both Humphries and Slingby were also part-time instructors at the Academy. They were very well-liked by their students, who prospered under their instruction. The Academy's Administrator recommended them highly. Their fellow teachers' opinions were mixed, which was acceptable. Humphries had made some changes to the Ethics lectures, which some older teachers found 'uppity' and others classified as 'about damn time'. Slingby was considered a brilliant combat instructor with an unfortunately unconcealed disrespect for those lazy or conservative colleagues who taught formal duelling and repetitive drill rather than streetfighting survival techniques.

The City and Branch of London had grown larger. Spears' responsibilities had increased. Drowning in paperwork and business planning, he now proposed Humphries to be promoted to administrative assistant. Here was another classic example of a Spears gloss. Humphries needed another three years of service at the Academy to fulfill the requirements of promotion to Assistant Director. Spears needed the help now. By changing the title he was hoping to imply the post was secretarial, since Humphries was too senior to be classed as an aide. Possibly he was also hoping to avoid paying the salary increase.

Mr. Humphries, according to Spears' proposal, excelled in those virtues that Spears valued most—diligence, obedience and loyalty.

Madame Administrator agreed on the diligence. However, she perceived that Humphries and the Director defined loyalty in slightly different ways. Spears was loyal to his Division and the Higher Ups; Humphries was loyal to his people. This would affect obedience. While Mr. Spears was an excellent planner and disciplinarian, he lacked the ability to relate to his Reapers. Madame believed that Humphries, when he believed a legally acceptable action was also morally indefensible, might provide a valuable check and balance upon Spears. 

Mr. Humphries still believed himself responsible for the whole Thorns debacle. It was time he got over it. How better than to be able to defend his coworkers and friends?

Yes, this would be an excellent choice, for more reasons that Mr. Spears knew. This would be a learning experience for him as well. It might provide her with some innocent amusement from time to time. She signed the proposal with a smile which might have had the slightest touch of _schadenfreude_.

* * *

As a test of his patience and dedication, Spears' first act was to stick Alan with planning the annual budget. Humphries requested copies of the budgets and ledgers for the last ten years, asked some penetrating questions, and retreated into his office for a month. During that month his partner, students and co-workers walked very carefully around him, but at the end Humphries produced a proposal which asked for several upgrades, reassigned the funds from several outdated expenses, and was approved without argument by Madame Administrator. Spears, who had used that month to clear his desk for the first time in history, mentally reclassified Humphries from "useful subordinate" to "national treasure". 

This lasted perhaps two weeks.

The team of Anders and Brandon, transfers from Liverpool, stumbled into a ravening of demons. Their trainee escaped and raised the alarm, but both Seniors were severely injured before help arrived. One of the demons had seized the trainee's scythe and inflicted lacerations that would have to heal at a near-human rate. Anders sustained a spine injury and lost an arm. Brandon was clawed, scythed and poisoned. Both had broken bones. Other Reapers had responded to the trainee's call; the scythe was reclaimed, three demons slain and three others chased through a demonic portal.

Will dealt with Anders and Brandon as the Rules required. The trainee was shaky but capable of work. Will reassigned him to a different team. He thought no more about it until Alan brought it up two days later.

Alan's tone was reasonable but the look in his eye would have sent Slingby in search of high ground. Grell and Ronald also knew that look and feared it. It meant that Alan was ready to chase them up a tree and then set it afire. 

"Will, you've put our Scousers on half-pay during their recovery. I'm sure that's an honest mistake."

"The Rules are very clear," said Spears, somewhat startled. "Reapers unable to stand a full shift go to half-pay while recovering. It discourages malingering." 

"Being unable to walk is not malingering. Having broken bones and limbs which must be regrown is not malingering. Having to choose between food and housing is not acceptable. Making them give up their home and move into a dorm is not acceptable. Their wounds are honorable. They shouldn't be rewarded with starvation and eviction. And, by the way, they need their trainee back to provide help with the things they cannot do for themselves."

Spears raised an eyebrow. This suddenly fierce little bantam cock had never before offered so much as an opinion on the weather. "What do you recommend, Mr. Humphries?"

"We should return Brandon to full pay, as he can do paperwork at home. It doesn't matter where his desk is, as long as the work is done. Anders can remain at one-half. That will pay their rent. I have completed the paperwork. Sign here, please. I have prepared a memo to the Administrator asking that the Rules be amended in the case of two injured partners sharing an apartment."

Oh. How had Will overlooked the fact that two Partners on half-pay could not cover the rent on an apartment in Association housing? 

"Sign here. Thanks. Their trainee will bring them meals from the Cafeteria. Here's the form confirming him in Junior status. He's got the makings of a fine Reaper if this episode doesn't send him into one of the support services. He'll move in with his Seniors to provide live-in nursing and run any errands necessary. His housing payment will be transferred from the dorms to the apartment. We're issuing him vouchers for their food; I'll pay for them if you don't want it coming out of Extraordinary Expenses." 

At that point Will dug in his heels. It was too early in the year to deplete the Budget. Alan assumed the cost of the vouchers. This rebounded a week afterwards, during Spears' traditional morning comment about Slingby's state of dress. Beyond the usual undone buttons and tie, Slingby's trousers had obvious mending through a dark stain all down the left leg. 

Slingby slowly straightened up, tilted his head, fixed Spears with a scythe-your-ignorant-ass glare, and spoke as a Senior to a conspicuously untalented peachfuzz trainee.

"Will, do not bitch about me uniform. Ye've refused to feed our Scousers while they recover from serious hurt. For shame, Reaper. The entire Division knows that Alan's pawned his bolo slide and watch to help buy meals for them. Even with his Academy job he can't pay for their food plus his own, which means I am feeding him instead of replacing clothing torn in the performance of my duty. Which, incidentally, involved dealing with the devils that attacked our Scousers. Either start taking proper care of yer injured staff, or get used to seeing mended trews." An unholy, unkindly light kindled in Slingby's eye. "Or I could always wear me kilt. Clan Buchanan. Ye'll love it. Outshines a lighthouse. Alan hangs it in the closet to scare the mice."

Spears was taken aback. Slingby had not given him a direct rebuke since shortly after Will had entered Management. This man had contributed greatly to his earliest training, yet Will had mentally demoted him to a mere unruly subordinate. Respect for one's instructors was held as a holy duty in the Realm. 

Spears spent a morning comparing his Branch's salary structure to the current cost of food, housing, equipment and uniforms. London costs had risen sharply in recent years. The base pay of a senior Collections agent was adequate only as long as he remained active. Spears' own salary was the only one in the Branch that had risen to compensate. Suddenly Grell's increased laments about being unable to afford her cosmetics gained meaning. 

Spears reproved himself for having failed to notice that Humphries' bolo strings were tied in a bow. He looked up the tartan of the Clan Buchanan and winced. 

He approved food vouchers for Anders and Brandon. He filled out the form to give Alan the raise he should have received upon promotion. He made a note to have Alan negotiate for raises all round in the next Budget, using this case as a prime proof of need. He called Alan in, handed him a reimbursement check, and apologized.

As soon as they had returned home, Alan wrapped his arms around Eric. Eric enthusiastically reciprocated. He kissed the top of Alan's head. "What's this then? Yer trembling, my Light. Are ye unwell? Is Will giving ye grief?" 

Alan pressed his forehead to Eric's shoulder. "He apologized. To me. That is so wrong. Surely the Apocalypse is upon us."

"World hasn't ended yet, more's the pity. If it had, we could sleep late. Will's paying for the food vouchers?" 

"Yes. He repaid me and approved the raise I was supposed to get. Don't get used to it, though. We'll lose it soon enough if he's trying to buy my future silence. He holds the business of the Branch far above the welfare of his Reapers. It never occurs to him to consider his employees' needs; all his loyalty is upwards or centered on Grell. I can't let it pass when he allows the Rules to treat everyone else badly." 

"Then I think yer aiming yer stubbornness in the right direction. Good fer ye."

"He's not malicious. It's just a complete lack of comprehension. Was he always like this?"

"Not so much at first, but y' know what time does to Reapers. More-so's disease. We become like ourselves only more so."

Alan sighed. Eric kissed him again and released him. "At least we'll be able to get yer watch and tie slide back. And my earring and chain. He never noticed they were gone."

"I need to save up and buy something small and valuable to pawn in emergencies. The bolo is only silver with a minimal value for rarity. Just in case we find ourselves between jobs and locked out some day, limited to whatever we have on our persons at the time." 

Well. This was new. Alan, his stroppy reckless Alan, was frightened. But banishment had happened once. Eric had thought Alan had stopped having nightmares about it. Better work this out now. They headed towards the kitchen.

"Money is always tight these days, but let me add my savings to yours. When we save enough I propose we buy a pair of simple platinum wedding bands. Always available, a greater value, relatively unnoticeable and not easy to lose in a fight. They'll hold their value better than cash."

"Rings can catch on claws, though. That might be dangerous, even under gloves." 

Eric reached for the tea tin that held his spare funds. What little was there looked lonely. "Our first purchase, when we have the money, can be two cheap but reliable watches to keep as a backup. That'll allow us to pawn or sell both good ones if we're broke but still working. A flat gold chain like mine can be hidden under your shirt. Another, shorter but heavier, could be attached to a cheap pocket watch. Everyone would think it was gold-washed brass. Your bolo slide could be a better metal or conceal a valuable stone. Precious metals and gems can be sold in either the Reaper or Human Realm, but the watches have to be sold here if they're too advanced. Let's talk to the Pawnbroker about what holds its value best. But we shall have rings one day. Thatcher and McCain wear 'em and have had no problem."

Alan smiled. "If you are sure there's no hazard, I'd like very much to exchange rings." 

"It's an acceptable risk," said Eric. "Traditional, too. One reason for wedding rings has always been that the surviving spouse has something to sell in an emergency."

"Oh. I remember when we first started getting additional staff," said Alan. "Remember Thorsson? Thorsson wore a ring. He seceded shortly after he was assigned here. I wonder if he pawned it to buy a start in the Human Realm. We just need enough to fund a head start if things go bad, or to support somebody who's caught between Will and a hard place."

"I remember," said Eric. "But Thorsson never intended to stay out-realm. He and his wife only needed to hide until they got the transfer overturned. The Human Realm is not a good long-term option for us. Every few years people will notice we don't age. Confirmed bachelors attract blackmailers, and hiding the bodies is tedious. There's also some evidence that living outside increases our tendency to madness." 

Moreover, Eric thought but did not say, soon enough the Human Realm will become a very bad place for an undocumented male, or any male of an age to be made a soldier. A lower-management job in the London Branch would not be safe either. He did not want Alan to be swept into battlefield reaping. To stay together when the shooting started, they needed to be essential to the Academy. 

"You're protecting people from the narrowest interpretation of the Rules. This is a good thing. Always remember, my Light, that Spears needs you more than you need this job. We can demand a transfer to another city, and appeal to the Administrator if he blocks it. We can teach full-time at the Academy. Also, Alan, I've been training Juniors for ages. Quite a few of my previous apprentices are now managers in other Branches. We can be set down homeless and broke anywhere in the Realm and find work the same day. You know we can always bunk in the Academy dorms. They'd love to have us on-site and available for more classes. I think that Will would consider the loss of two Seniors over a difference of opinion to be inefficient. He is not a bad man, nor a stupid one. Just strict, because at heart he thinks it's our only path to Forgiveness."

Alan relaxed. "You're right, of course. I'm overreacting. I'm having those dreams again, and it's just the stress of learning something new. And it's true that we have other options if we need them. For the moment, I still have a management position. Maybe I can ease Will's interpretation of the rules while dealing with the endless administrivia." He looked up at his partner, a deep need in his eyes. "But why don't we take advantage of our current happiness? Dinner can wait..." 

Dinner waited a long time. Eric left his partner sleeping and returned to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and do some constructive worrying. This promotion had placed Alan in opposition to a man he had obeyed unconditionally for years, the only boss he'd ever had. Fight a demon? Every day before breakfast. Defy Will? Only once; well, twice now. It required learning a new sort of courage.

Eric looked at the potted plant on the windowsill. Ivy: friendship, fidelity, marriage, wedded love. Over the door, a sprig of mistletoe: kiss me, I surmount difficulties. Alan would gain confidence in his new responsibilities. But there would be rings. Just in case.


	2. Game On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations with Director Spears; problems at the Academy

Alan had gone to Admin and negotiated an agreement that allowed Spears to sign a single cover letter instead of each of the multitude of Collection forms that Alan proofread and approved daily. Admin was quite pleased with the idea. It allowed them to set up a lovely new file, impressively titled, which would require minimal maintenance and enhance somebody's importance. In return, future favors could be asked. 

This moved Alan back into Spears' "national treasure" category. The lessening of his workload had nearly eliminated Will's constant stress headaches, making him somewhat less severe with his subordinates and more patient with Grell. In their next meeting Spears waited with interest to see what Alan would want in exchange. They went through all the usual weekly reports and statistics before Alan demonstrated the little tells that signaled his approach to the real business of the day. 

Will adjusted his glasses, slid into his sternest posture; The Rulebook Is God Made Manifest. Alan raised his chin in the stance of Speaking Truth To Power; Your Rulebook Is Inappropriate In This Situation.

Game on.

"Will, Roland D'Acres is long overdue for promotion. He sat his upgrade exams years ago. His record is spotless. We've no excuse for holding him back." 

Spears frowned repressively. "D'Acres is an excellent Reaper and Mentor. If we raise his rank, he'll transfer to a Management position in a smaller Branch. I don't want to lose him."

"Actually, this promotion would keep him in place. He's considering getting it by transferring to another city or specialty; this step up has recently become very important to him."

"But is it important to the Branch, Humphries?"

"Yes, if you want to keep him here. I've talked to him. He's happy working Collections and would prefer to continue reaping with Fitzwilliam. The problem is that he's courting a lady in Admin, very secretly because she's a Grade Four. If you grant him this promotion, it will make them equal in rank and eligible to declare a partnership. That will effectively bind him to London. Also it may give you a grateful ally in Administration in the future."

Spears hid a smile behind his hand. Alan was beginning to think like a proper manager. "You've already finished all the paperwork, haven't you."

"Of course, sir. Sign here, please. And here. Yes, you are giving him a raise. And here; you're pre-approving him for a housing upgrade. I'll tell him it's a wedding present from the Branch. Thanks."

* * *

Alan poured boiling water into the teapot. "He smiled, Eric. I may never recover. I hope all my immunizations are current, because God knows what's wrong with him." But Alan was grinning as he said it.

"Ye're teaching him compassion, my Light, and he's teaching you the management skills he wants you to have. Confess! You are both beginning to enjoy it. I won't tell. I give you both credit for the ability to learn. It's not a common talent, alas. I despair of some of my students."

"Mine too. About half of mine could fail to graduate. Some of them are completely unsuited for any work in the Realm. I can't bear to think what will be done with them when they are culled. The rest are not getting the instruction they'll need. Maybe it's because most of the professors hated teaching enough to kill themselves. And the classes are too large, the new books are too simplistic, and in some places they are incorrect. I'm trying to cram in some basic Demonology because the current Ethics textbook doesn't even define their forms and strategies. The school's just assuming their Mentors will teach them all that. Professor Harald was muttering about a possible lowering of the pass/fail standards. I can't assign really effective homework because I haven't time to read and grade that many papers. Tests have to be designed to be easily scored, not to demonstrate knowledge. This stinks. There's a logic here but I can't see it." 

"It's a push to increase our numbers at any cost. Y've heard me rants on that."

"I was talking to the Bursar about better books, or even returning to the older books—no budget—he said that the rise in intake has reached a plateau. School's full. No plans to expand. I asked about splitting up into smaller classes, maybe hiring more teachers, got snubbed royally."

"Hah. Bad times coming, Alan. When this class and maybe the next three or four have achieved Senior rank. I've seen this before, preceding Black Death die-offs. And the Humans are in a tribalism phase."

"...tribalism?"

"Aye. Basically, 'our tribe is better than anybody else's tribe so we're entitled to kill 'em all and steal their stuff'. Me and my brother against my cousin, me and my cousin against the world. That sort of thing. "

"Oh. Right. Eric, can we set up a regular sparring schedule? With all this deskwork I'm losing my edge. Come to think of it, your students should probably see a couple of matches between experienced Seniors. It'll be a revelation for them."

Eric sliced the last of their bread. Thank the Highest, tomorrow was payday. "I suggest we meet every morning before my first class. Within a few days all my students will be showing up early to watch. We can use that to begin introduction to some of our sneakier tricks. I've got a few big fellows who need a trouncing from someone smaller. They're starting to underestimate shorter opponents, based on overpowering smaller classmates at the same level of training. That can get them killed when they first encounter minor demons."

"Happy to oblige. I would love the excuse to thump anyone you point out. I don't want to get soft when our future is uncertain. Reaping twice a week isn't enough. If I can get on the rolls as your teaching assistant, I'll be fighting every day and entitled to an additional fee."

"I do like training the recruits. Got a couple upperclassmen who might do very well as trainees for Jacobs and McCain. I'll recommend them to Will if they pass their finals."

"Let me guess, Harmon and Quirke? I agree. Good matches for those teams. They're good friends, too, and would be pleased to find assignments in the same Branch. They'll work well together as Juniors, and might partner as Seniors. Put lemons on the shopping list, please? I'm starting on a proposal that will have little benefit to the Branch except to raise employee morale. I have to be absolutely sure I can make it work before I present it. It might get me demoted if it irritates Will enough."

"So? Quit. I think ye're wasted as anything but a teacher. Full-time at the Academy is your best option if Spears demotes you. More respect, better pay, less overtime. I think ye're safe, though, as long as you're doing his Budget. Sugar goes on the list too, and bread." 

"I'm teaching tomorrow morning. I'll go in early with you, spar and clean up, teach, and do the shopping on the way back to the office."

"Sounds good. I may be home late tomorrow evening. Spears wants me to check on a report of some demonic activity going on in one of yon toff neighborhoods. We broke up a Ravening nearby, and it's thought that they were invited. Seems to be a fashion among the rich and idle for summoning demons. They do it wrong, the beasties break loose, we run 'em off home and clean up the souls not eaten. Might explain what happened to Anders and Brandon. I'll be reporting to Will before coming home." 

"Nothing to do with the Phantomhive demon, is it?"

"Could be. Doubt it. He works alone. Doesn't need or want backup. The manor is empty and derelict, the estate bankrupt after paying off two rounds of death duties plus fines for concealing the older boy's death. Grell said he did go sniffing around the cousins, but the aunt ran him off. For all his power, strong women daunt him. I'll just be doing a sweep looking for demonic traces."

"I'll hold dinner, then. Be careful, please?"


	3. Investigating a Rumor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric Slingby is looking for evidence of humans summoning demons.

From rooftop to ground, from gate to parlor, from attic to basement, Death's servant drifted through the townhouses unseen. He had no souls scheduled for collection tonight. Eric Slingby was looking for evidence of humans summoning demons. 

Here were spellcraft traces enough, barely skimming the surface of the supernatural: an occasional hex or blessing learned from someone's granny or herb-woman, some harmless or beneficial workings—an ice box charmed to keep food fresh a little longer; doors warded against rats, burglars, and in one case against the master of the house and his son. Poor kitchenmaid. The cook was protecting her as best she could. Talismans against the Evil Eye were common in the rooms of lower servants, powered more by the faith of the owner than the skill of the maker. Here a vestige of an old love spell, there a group of finishing-school misses setting out a dumb supper in an attempt to see the faces of their future husbands. Nothing of interest. No smell of brimstone. No concentrations of animal deaths. No altars in unconsecrated places—well, one, but it commemorated a son lost at sea. The prayers offered there by his mother were only for the repose of his soul. No one was plotting to call up horror from the depths.

The townhouse that once had belonged to the Phantomhives smelled faintly of old blood and old evil. The current owners were harmless and blameless, unaffected by the building's history. Nevertheless, as there were children here, Eric used his scythe to disperse some lingering imprints of violent death. Sometimes the wee ones were more sensitive than the adults. He made sure there was nothing left to disturb their dreams.

For the sake of completeness, Eric opened a portal to the ruins of the Phantomhive manor house. The site was steeped in demonic malice, but it was old and cold. The demon who had lived there was long gone. Decay was advanced. It looked like the manor had largely been a creation of the demon's personal power and had collapsed into a charred ruin when that support was withdrawn.

Eric perched atop a jagged wall. He sniffed the night wind, listened for ghostly murmurs. Nothing but the rustle of rats and a scent of rain. The demon's contract had ended in 1889, about six months after he and Alan had last encountered him. He should ask Grell if she knew anything more, although she'd lost interest in the demon after her relationship with Will had improved. He checked out the cottages of the remaining tenants. Nothing. Time to report and go home. 

He opened a portal and returned to the office. Spears and Grell were waiting for him. "Mr. Slingby. What did you find?"

"Very little. No sign of the black arts. If the rumor of demon-raising was based in fact, then maybe the location was incorrect. There's no new demonic presence in that area. I went by the Phantomhive estate as well. The ruins are soaked with malice, anger, and frustration, but all of it is faded with age. Grell, do ye know if that demon's still around?"

"Sebastian? No, not for some time now. He may have found a new Contract somewhere. The last one didn't work out to his entire satisfaction, you know. If he's not home in Hades sulking about it, he could be anywhere in the human world. On his own, though. He's much too vain and selfish to work with a bunch of lesser demons."

"I can confirm he hasn't returned to either of the Phantomhive properties."

"Very well, Agent Slingby," said Spears. "Please submit a written report tomorrow. I shall ask all Reapers to be especially alert for unexpected human-demonic interactions. Until tomorrow, then." He offered his arm to Grell and the two of them left.

Eric watched them go. It was good to see them getting along so well. Will had warmed a tiny degree and Grell had become just that little bit more restrained in public. Give them another century and they'd be downright cozy together. Now it was time to go home and be cozy with Alan.


	4. Back to the Academy

Two underclassmen had agreed to meet early at the training field, hoping to sneak a smoke before classes began. Student Smithfield arrived first. He had been rewarded by the frightening display of two Senior Reapers facing off.

"Dutch, get over here, you have got to see this!"

Student Ten Hagen sat down by his friend. "Whaaat? Oh, my toes and roses; somebody challenged the Viking Scot?"

"Nooo, look, look! See who the other man is?" Smitty was bouncing like water drops in a hot skillet. 

Student Ten Hagen squinted hard. Even with the glasses his vision was exceptionally poor. "Small fellow. No! Can't be Mr. Humphries! Our tiny mild Ethics Instructor? The one Jackboot Carruthers calls Sweetface?"

"Mister Tiny Mild is an active Senior London Collections Agent when he has the time. Oh my G...didyouseethat? Ouch!"

The fighters jumped apart and began circling each other.

"Ohhh Dutch, look a' those scythes, real personalized—aaak!—oh my gawd they're gonna kill each other!"

"Wow. Student Smithfield, I do believe that there is justice in this universe after all. And we may be privileged to witness it—oh my—I would never ever have believed Mr. Humphries could be that dangerous or move that fast!"

Both cringed as the opponents attacked in a swirl of scythes. Dust and grass flew.

"Justice for whom, exactly? Oh, I can't look," said Smitty, peering through his fingers. "Was that legal?" Humphries had ducked under Slingby's swing to fling dirt in his face and ram the butt end of his slasher into his opponent's stomach.

"This is a fight, not a duel. Anything's a weapon. Oh, yeesh, Mr. Slingby caught him—he's in real trouble—ah! Humphries bit him? He let go. Well. Instructor Slingby has definitely been going easy on us."

On the sideline, the timer chimed. The Seniors disengaged, banished their scythes, and bowed formally without taking their eyes off of each other.

"Justice?" prodded Smitty.

"Justice," said Dutch happily. "I foresee a day in which Student Carruthers is going to have the word 'Sweetface' tattooed on his forehead with a drill press. Metaphorically speaking. By Mister Tiny Mild."

"Ah," said Smitty. Carruthers was beloved by none. "Could happen to a nicer guy, but not a more deserving one. Same time tomorrow, in case they make a habit of it?"

"Oh, yes indeed. Every morning, just in case. Did you see that whack to the back of the ankles? That would hamstring somebody if he turned his scythe around. I can't wait until Caliban brings Ariel into class and lets Carruthers have a go at him."

* * *

In the showers Alan was laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, did you see their expressions? Was that why you let me survive, or was it just that tonight it's my turn to cook? And now, you realize, that after fighting as dirty as I can, I have to go teach Ethics with a straight face?"

Eric was scrubbing dirt and sand out of his hair. "Aye, ye've lost some ground, but you'll catch up fast. I'm going to have to give up me cornrows if ye keep throwing the yard at me. I won't have time to braid it back up before going out and drilling basic self-defense into the poor recruits."

"Just comb it back and tie it. I'll braid you up tonight. Oh, that did feel good. You know I like teaching best, but it only takes a couple of emergencies to send me back out in the field full-time; getting soft is dangerous."

"More than you know, Alan-me-Light."

"We really need to keep this up. Or I can find someone else to spar with if you get bored. Grell might oblige. Very skilled and never predictable. If she didn't handicap herself with those shoes and that tight coat binding her arms, I'd never dare ask." Alan tossed his towel into the bin and opened his locker.

"Grell will not forgive you if you bite."

"I shouldn't have to. She's not that much taller. She can't grab me and hold me off the ground at arm's length. But people forget that Reapers go all shark-toothed for a reason. Do you suppose that we could poison demons as badly as they poison us? Be sure you wash that bite really well." 

"Already healing. You'll be back in trim in a week, and then we will talk to the management about having you help with some of my upperclassmen. Throw me a towel? I need you to teach the littler ones how to humble the big ones who've been having it all their own way. They have the speed but I'm too tall to teach your tricks. I want to introduce you to the big ones right away. If I trounce 'em it only teaches them to beware opponents of their own size or larger. You are going to teach them a healthy fear of smaller ones. I want them all to go out on their first assignments with half a chance to survive and no bad habits to break." Eric took a new set of drill clothing from the Extra Large stack. 

"I'll love it, thank you. There are one or two upperclassmen who particularly need a kicking. They are starting to think themselves pretty special, and it shows in their Ethics essays and the way they treat their juniors. Their careers will be short if we don't cure them of it."

"Their mentors, if they're any good, should also humble them. Doesn't always happen, though. There's a couple of Mentors I know of who would only reinforce their arrogance. Or just let them get killed, to be rid of an unwelcome responsibility. There ought to be a way to...a better way to assign..."

"I will tell you a secret, Eric-Too-Tall. Anytime someone's driven to say 'there has to be a better way', they are right. It can take a lot of work and get you into a lot of trouble, but there will be a better way. So think about it."


	5. Reaping the Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late in May. Alan's Anklebiters are invited to London. He's preparing for their arrival carefully because these kids are not ready

"Will, I've made a list of the most promising students in the current graduating class. They are all hoping to come to London. Eric recommends Harmon to Fairbairn and Jacobs, Quirke to Thatcher and McCain, and Roberts to Vanderveldt and Gupta. I agree that these should be excellent matches. The others will be good replacements for any Juniors ready to leave their Mentorships for Senior status. The Academy will send them along on Monday for interviews. If they are accepted by their Seniors, they can start on Wednesday after moving into the Junior dorms.

"I also have several intern candidates, listed here. All are thinking of going into Collections next year. One of them is possible only if we can get better correction on his eyesight. The student-issue glasses aren't working for him. I want to take him to Pops Anderson in Spectacles; maybe he can sneak better lenses into his student frames. Another is probably going to switch to Scythes. He comes to class laughing and smelling of gasoline. Grell will love him, and so will you because he'll do her reports better than she does. I'll introduce him to the Scythe managers. We can always use a friend in that Department."

"Can we afford so many trainees?"

"Barely. A few will decide to transfer to other Divisions once the glamour wears off. There's plenty of work for all who stay. I am going to co-opt one intern to do the Collections paperwork for Eric and myself. We're falling behind due to our teaching schedules increasing. I have my eye on one who does not approach spelling as a creative art form. I might also ask him to help with my grading.

"But, Will, I think we should ask for a large increase in staff and an even larger increase in funding next year. The graduating class this year is twice the size that mine was. They all have to go somewhere. All Branches will be applying for budget increases. There's no question that those requests will be granted, because these students all have to be trained. Let's get our requests in early before the money's all gone. I want London to have the best of the best, all of them, because this increase wouldn't be happening if there wasn't going to be a need for it. Eric's got an uncomfortable theory about that. You need to talk to him; I think it will affect your long-term planning."

"Ah." Will made a note. "Start on that proposal now. Include your reasoning. This should go to Madame Administrator so she can also plot, um, plan for the future. Possibly she already has information that we do not. But there is something else, isn't there?"

"There is. Will, the education the Academy is providing is declining as the class sizes rise. These particular graduates are smart enough, but they are inadequately trained. The Academy's told them they are ready to Reap. They are not. Maybe in the remote countryside but not in London. For the safety of their mentors and themselves, they will need remedial classes on Records Retrieval, Demonology, Teleporting, and many sparring sessions before they are ever allowed out on the street. They've all drilled with Eric and myself, but only with student scythes. Now they need to use their new grown-up scythes against other Seniors with different fighting styles. All of them to be held at Trainee status until we're sure of them. Acceptance as Juniors at the discretion of their mentors after six weeks in the field."

"Two months," said Spears. "Let reality set in. By then they should have encountered their first demon. Some defects take time to manifest. It's more difficult to remove an unsatisfactory Junior than an unsatisfactory Trainee. Can you arrange the scheduling? Start with a meeting of all Seniors day after tomorrow at 08:00. You will explain the problem. I will declare a training period for all the new hopefuls. McCain for Demonology, Jacobs for Retrieval, D'Acres for Teleportation, everybody for combat training. That frees yourself and Slingby to your regular duties."

"Perfect. May I suggest that convalescents could teach theory if their active counterparts are too busy? Also, these kids need an introduction to fallback weapons. Knox is very good with knives. They'll need to meet Grell, too. Grell's an outstanding fighter who will help them loosen up from the rigid conformity of the Academy. Any of them who can't get along with her should be bounced immediately. I think they all can or they wouldn't be on this list, but we have to be sure."

"Indeed. If these trainees prove to be as poorly prepared as you believe, I will send a memo to Madame Administrator about these remedial classes. I shall suggest that other Branches may need to set up similar programs to minimize injuries and deaths. Any further action will come from officials at her level or above, without risking Academy displeasure to you or your partner. Think about whether our next Budget should have an item for remedial training. Lecturers should be paid a fee. Madame Administrator may be tempted to bill it back to the Academy. Perhaps we can speak to Scythes about a presentation on concealed weapons. Oh, and tell Slingby I want to see him at his earliest convenience. He is to explain his uncomfortable theory to me."

* * *

"Grell, do you have a minute? Won't be long, I have a desk full of Collection Forms to review."

"If this is about outstanding paperwork, Alan, I have a manicure appointment." 

"Nope. Actually, you may enjoy this. The new trainees are going to need to be brought up to scratch before they can be allowed out to play."

"Didn't we just have a meeting about this? I'm already scheduled to help train the little buggers."

"Yes. This is specific to you, Grell. You know how they've been drilled into conformity. You are going to be the most nonconforming person they've ever seen. If there are any of them who cannot accept you at the value you place upon yourself, I want to know it immediately so I can get rid of them. Once they are accepted as Juniors we will be working with them for years. I won't tolerate any personality-deficient apprentices creating drama and discomfort for you or for the rest of us. Please watch them carefully. If they are just confused, send them to me and I'll explain why they shouldn't have slept through that Ethics lecture. If they are intolerant and malignant, I'll tell them to pack. We've got a waiting list of eager replacements."

"Why bother? I'll just arrange an accident." 

"You should not have to deal with a moron or fill out the paperwork for disposing of one. I am pretty sure this bunch is going to worship you like little star-struck puppydogs. But the selection was mine, and so is the responsibility. If I am wrong about them, tell me. I will investigate. If they can't be taught, I will personally escort them back to the Academy. Same goes for the interns. If that makes some students reconsider London as a desirable employer, so much the better for them and for us."

Grell was very still for a moment. Then, "Alan, sweetie, if you weren't Eric's I would kiss you."

"Grell, I am honored. But as I am Eric's, and not your type anyway, bestow that kiss on Will."

* * *

That night as Grell lay beside her love, she suddenly giggled. Will, although nearly asleep, made a questioning "Mmmmm?" 

"Will, didn't you once call Alan Humphries a National Treasure?"

"Mmm hmm."

"You were right, dearest."

"Mmmm? Mostly. Sometimes. Sleep now?"

She kissed his cheek, lightly, sweetly. "Yes, dear."


	6. Midsummer's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a belated Graduation party for the newbies, and something very important for the Seniors

"Let me do it. If I'm caught it can be called a silly student prank, while you lot could be in serious trouble. I'll signal Smitty the minute the decision is made. Smitty then signals everyone who can see him, and those can pass it on. Be ready to look innocent."

The Director's door was closed. There were an unusual number of Reapers in the office this morning. All were narrowly focused on Intern Ten Hagen by Spears' office or Intern Smithfield down the hall. Ten Hagen pressed his ear to the bottom of a water glass, the mouth of which was pressed to the wall near the door. Not to the door itself; there were stories about that door, and Director Spears' ability to see right through it.

In Spears' office, Alan laid out a map and a proposal. 

"With your permission, sir, I would like to arrange an office outing on Midsummer's Eve. Do you remember when Eric and I made our vows? Like that. A general picnic in the afternoon, a bonfire in the evening, with our people porting in and out as their assignments require. A few Partnerships to be declared or renewed, promotions to be celebrated, the new trainees and interns introduced and welcomed. Invitations might be extended to a few individuals in other Departments we work closely with, to increase familiarity and cooperation."

"This sounds suspiciously like fun, Mr. Humphries."

"Absolutely, Mr. Spears. But we can call it a team-building exercise, replacing an afterparty. Can't get much grimmer than that. It allows us to tweak the schedules so that the introductions and vows can have the maximum attendance. Will, I want our new members known to all so they can be protected by all. I want our partnerships strengthened, our Juniors and Seniors refreshed. I want to start developing friendly relations with the managers and staff of Scythes and Admin and Spectacles. Maintenance, too, they work hard and don't get much respect."

"I won't have our people Reaping drunk."

"You know they won't. But you can keep an eye on them, same as at an afterparty. If we provide iced water, lemonade, ale and beer, they won't bother bringing in hard liquor. Attention will be focused on food and footie. The only ones who might get tipsy will be those going off-duty."

"And the youngsters?"

"This is a test. If any of them display alcohol or behavioral problems, they go back to the Academy immediately; they need help we can't give. However, these kids have all passed the exam on my Ethics lecture on Intoxicants, which includes How Not To Be An Idiot, Only One Small Drink Of Anything You're Not Familiar With No Matter How Good It Tastes, four variations on Never Touch A Drink You Didn't Watch the Barkeep Pour, and three choruses of If You Touch A Scythe While Impaired You Will Be Expelled. They should be fine. Trainees will be observed by their Mentors. Interns will be accompanied by Seniors, or Juniors nearing promotion."

"Have you a location?"

Alan touched the map. "Yes, this area west of the Academy. Eric and I have been running students through combat exercises there. The north end has a firepit, sanitary facilities, a game field and a large roofed shelter with a fireplace and picnic tables. Usage is already agreed upon as long as we do no damage, clean up afterwards and bounce any party crashers trying to sneak in from their classes or dorms."

"Costs?"

"We have the necessary funds squirreled away in the Budget. We actually need to spend it so I can increase the amount next time. Several of our people are willing to bring in food from their favorite pubs and restaurants, especially if we subsidize them. We can even afford to pay a small Maintenance crew to help with setup and cleanup. Any leftover food and beverages go home with them as a perk for their labor."

Spears examined the papers; sat up; adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Humphries, I have a reputation to maintain. I will deny to the end of time that I ever said this. Good idea." 

Alan laughed.

Outside the Director's office, Mr. Ten Hagen waved a thumbs-up in the air and walked ("Never run, Mr. Ten Hagen, if you wish to go unnoticed." —Senior Collections Agent Roland D'Acres) to the break room to return the water glass.

* * *

On Midsummer's Eve the office picnic and bonfire was a huge success. The weather was fine, the food was wonderful, the company even better. 

The partners Anders and Brandon were welcomed back to active duty after six months of recuperation from a demon attack. Their Junior, Mr. Collins, had provided home care throughout their convalescence. After careful thought, he had elected to transfer into the Medical Division to train as a nurse specializing in wound care and physical therapy. He would begin at the Infirmary the next day. It was a sad loss to Collections, but his Seniors backed his choice wholeheartedly. They used the picnic to interview several hopeful Trainee candidates.

Seniors Sutcliff and Knox introduced Intern Smithfield to a Scythes manager known for his love of gadgetry. All four spent two delightful hours discussing the beauty and glory of the gasoline engine as applied to the science of harvesting devices. The manager took orders for a new saw chain and three replacement mower blades. He also gave his card to Smithfield, urging him to apply to Scythes for a Trainee position six months before graduation. "I'll send you all the proper forms. Get recommendations from these two and a couple of instructors. I think you'll be very happy with our offer." 

Smitty floated on a cloud of happiness over to his friend Trainee Ten Hagen. "Dutch! I've got a request from Scythes! They want me to apply early for a Trainee spot!" He returned to earth. "Oh, Dutch, I hope you don't mind? Only it's just what I've wanted."

"No, of course I'm happy for you. Not that you wouldn't be a good Reaper, but Scythes is your love. You'll be happy as a clam there. Me, I'm a soldier. I'll apply here next year as a Trainee candidate and see if I can get a Senior to take me on. Now that my glasses are fixed, Mr. Humphries says I'm eligible. Agent D'Acres and Agent Fitzwilliam might be ready for a mentorship then, and six other Juniors are nearing promotion. Their mentors will be looking for trainees. If I don't make the cut, there are other Branches. Also I think Spectacles would be kinda interesting. I'd like to see better vision correction for the Academy students. So many possibilities."

Senior Collections Agent (Grade Four) Roland D'Acres and Senior Records Manager (Grade Four) Sarah Goodfellow spoke partnership vows before her Mentor, a sweet, gentle Higher Up who stayed on to play a pickup game of soccer with the Juniors. Eric Slingby caught him coming away from the field and requested a great favor. The Elder listened. When Alan joined them, he asked them both a few questions about their partnership. They found themselves opening their hearts to this ancient Reaper. When the bonfire was going nicely, Eric and Alan stood before the Elder to present a velvet box with two platinum bands. With the Elder and all their friends bearing witness, they renewed their vows. The Elder clasped their left hands together so that the rings touched. He spoke a blessing of such power that all who heard it were uplifted, filled with peace and joy. The rings glowed softly until dawn. 

At midnight, Grell and Spears renewed their vows by the dying fire. These vows were gentler than their original ones, demanding less and offering more. Perhaps it was the flickering firelight which softened their expressions into something more than mere affection. Spears did not insist that it was an illusion. Grell did not insist that it was real. Their silence was an act of love.


	7. Madame Administrator makes a deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Countdown: Year One of Ten. 1904

Madame Administrator, in her sternest mode, folded her hands upon her desk. Senior Collections Agent Eric Slingby sat quietly in his chair, the very picture of patient innocence. There was a moment of silence, then both laughed.

Sometimes it was necessary to remember how very, very young most of the London Reapers were. Spears himself had barely a century of service. Madame and Eric had been in the class of 1471.

"You have had a busy few years, Eric, have you not?"

"Aye, Eliza. 'Tis fine how ye have prospered and advanced. Ye were always the smartest of us, and the fiercest."

"Is your husband well?"

"He is. It was a terrible thing for him to learn to stand up to Will. But he has done so and I am proud of him."

"Eric, I must ask. You have been closer to the Human Realm than I. Is the Plague returning?"

Eric looked down for a moment. Both of them had worked the plague outbreak of 1479. He had been the Reaper for the village of Eyam1 in 1665. Eliza had been working in London then. The pain still remained.

"Maybe. But I think it's war. I have this hobby, d'you see? I read the newspapers. The human newspapers, in German and English and French. And it is all hatred, Eliza. All nationalism and fascism and hatred. Everybody considers everybody else to be just a little less than human. So much easier to blame the neighbors for all your ills than endure the change necessary to fix the problems. The French are so politically divided they cannae cooperate to defend themselves from invasion. Austria wants to take over Serbia. The Ottoman Empire is crumbling; all its neighbors are hoping to slice off a chunk of territory. Japan is moving to assume control of Korea. The Brits are beginning an arms race against the German Navy. The Tsar of Russia is an autocrat who does not listen to his advisers. The Emperor of Germany thinks himself a perfect general and does not listen to his advisers. Many have signed treaties with each other that they have not thought through. Ethnicities which have lived peaceably together for years are now committing hate crimes against each other." 

"How very human," observed Madame.

"'Tis. It gets better. Oppression in Russia is ferocious. They are heading toward a revolution and possibly civil war. The royal habit of marrying cousins has spread hemophilia through the Crowned Houses, some of which are also feeling other effects from inbreeding. Everywhere there is this philosophy that an overpopulated country is entitled to invade its neighbors, kill them off and repopulate the land with its own excess people. And, of course, illness and armies always march together. One more thing. I've often tried to request newspapers from forward in time, like some of us order our watches? Blocked. Didn't bother me before, but now it's worrisome."

"Oh, dear."

"So do ye recall that before the London Plague, about 1640, the classes at the Academy started to increase in size, then held at the maximum number for five years before dropping, and then five years later when all those Juniors had reached Senior status...?" Eric shrugged and spread his hands.

"Yes. And we needed them all and were nearly overwhelmed even so. And here we go again."

"Just to make your day a little brighter; Alan says the Ravenings are practice runs. Hell is planning also. They are trying to use agreements of mutual protection to keep demons acting in groups without turning on each other. If they bind these groups in Contracts it might work."

Madame Administrator went silent for a moment. "He's right. Eric, he's right. Oh, what a disaster that would be. They could kill all the Reapers in a given area of a city or battlefield and consume the souls at their leisure. How long do you think we have?"

"Watch the numbers of Academy admissions. If you can learn the numbers for past years, see how long they've been at max. Alan tried asking the other instructors and was stopped by one of the Academy's administrators. Find out if Academies in other countries are doing the same thing. When the admissions drop slightly, figure five or six years. That's the best I can do, except to read me newspapers. Don't suppose we can find out who sets the admissions numbers and shake him until information falls out?"

"No. Keep reading. Report if you find anything that might be a warning."

"Nothing for nothing, Eliza. I want a favor in return."

"Tell me."

"Just this. Alan must stay at the Academy. Tell Will it's more efficient to have him train many students than to go to war as a single soldier. The very qualities that make Alan so valuable to you would break him on the battlefield. Keep us together if you can. I'll have you give your word, Eliza. Save my partner."

"A fair and logical request. I consider your foresight and his talents too valuable to lose. However, your terms are too confining. I need the ability to improvise in an emergency. Therefore, we will add this stipulation; that I may move either of you to another rank or position, to ensure you both remain in London or at the Academy; or if that is not possible, move you both in location, position, or rank, to ensure you stay together and that battlefield Reaping is not required of him; all this to the best of my ability, given that the Higher Ups could overrule me. And if they do, don't despair. They will keep you together. Bonds like yours are uncommon but well understood. Alan's stronger than you think, as long as he has you."

"If ye cannot preserve us both, then protect him."

"Nonsense. Don't be dramatic. I must keep you together. As strong as your bond is, how long do you think he would survive you? Or continue to function in your absence? How long would you last if separated from him? Have you considered the full effects of your Midsummer blessing by Elder Attbridge? I suggest you do some homework on that. You two are as one, Eric, and there is no breaking up the set. Agreed, Agent Slingby?"

"Agreed, Madame Administrator."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 https://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/stuart-england/eyam-and-the-great-plague-of-1665/


	8. Uniform Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trainee Roberts, Senior Collections Agent Chandra Gupta, and SCA Gerritt Vanderveldt the Dead Boer

Trainee Roberts sat between his Seniors, waiting for their Reap to show up. They had fifteen minutes to go, which had allowed for a short rest on the steps outside a boarding house. He was reciting a list of Report Codes for Agent Gupta when Agent Vanderveldt lifted his head and sniffed. Gupta stopped the recitation with a raised hand, then put a finger to his lips. All stood in silence and descended to the street. Roberts stepped back to the middle rear position he occupied during all reaping actions. Both Seniors were staring off to their left. Roberts sniffed, but all he smelled was London. He tried harder to distinguish the various odors. Garbage, horse droppings, and—brimstone; the hair on his arms rose. His Seniors lifted their scythes to the ready. Trainee Roberts took another step back to give them room. They walked invisibly among the humans, who unconsciously made way. 

Slowly they moved down the street. They came to a dark alleyway past the place where their Reap would occur. Something malicious was waiting back in there, something neither human nor Reaper nor Angel. Which meant he was about to encounter his first demon. Or his Seniors were. His job was to stay out of their way. His Seniors squared up to the alley mouth.

Agent Gupta held one finger up and moved it in a circle. Roberts, well-trained in hand signals over the last two months, turned around to guard them against assault from behind, scythe at the ready. The street was well-populated by passersby, children playing, street vendors selling items of dubious quality and provenance from pushcarts, the occasional wagon, aaand—oops—here came their Reap; fat, feisty, florid and fortyish; the very picture of an Unexpected Cardiac Event as described in the Morbidity and Mortality lecture. ("Record it correctly or you'll have to sit down later with some officious little Admin twerp demanding details on a soul you harvested three hundred Reaps ago."— _Lecture To The Trainees Given at the Scythe And Skull (1904);_ Senior Collections Agent Grell Sutcliff). Nothing scary or bad-smelling around or near him. The Reap had paused at one of the food carts. 

Behind him there was scuffling, a challenge in Afrikaans, a reply in a harsh deep growl. He knew better than to turn around. Still no apparent danger from the street, but there were other alleyways along its length that might harbor dark predators. Demons did not cooperate well. In other cities they hunted alone unless nesting. London, patrolled by the likes of Senior Collections Agents Sutcliff and Slingby and the SCAs that Slingby had trained, was a special case. Ravening agreements of mutual defense resulted. There might well be several other demons hunting alongside, if not with, the creature behind him. 

There was a rumble from up the street, and here came the beer wagon, careening around the corner. The drunken driver was hooting with laughter. Pedestrians shouted and ran. The wagon scraped a storefront, recovered, smashed into a few carts, continued as the driver whipped his horses; a wheel caught in the gutter; the wagon lurched as the wheel broke. The load of beer casks shifted, and over the wagon went. The street filled with citizens eager to see the wreckage and to fill any available container from the leaking casks. The driver stumbled about, shouting for help to get the horses sorted out.

Trainee Roberts watched as his Reap staggered, clutched his chest, and slid to the ground. A woman carrying a pitcher of beer ran past him, then stopped and returned to check on him. She called for help. Others gathered around. A boy was sent running for a doctor. Behind Roberts, sounds of a pitched battle. Before him, his Reap. Beyond the Reap, a shimmer in the air, a foul odor, and then a demon appeared. 

Insectoid. ("Heavily armored. Six legs. Do not confuse with eight-legged Arachnids, especially scorpions, or centipedes (see Arthropods). Weak points: joints, narrow legs, belly, neck, extended wings. A pierced belly will leak without stopping. Ichor is irritating to skin and eyes. Possible hazards: Poisonous bites from the front end, venomous stings from the back end. Claws drip or spray corrosive toxins. Strong for its size. Human form is rarely assumed and unconvincing. Not very intelligent. Usual strategy is a direct assault, often a high jump to attack from above. Bodies may separate into a swarm of small drones, but the group mind is distractible and has trouble reintegrating. There will be one individual in the swarm which is larger than the others. Kill it to disable the rest." —SCA A. Humphries (1904) , the unofficial Demonology handout _Field Guide To Demons_ to his senior Ethics class, p 6.) 

Roberts raised his garden spade to attack position but did not move forward; his duty was still to guard his Seniors, as the Reap had not yet died. The demon chirred derisively, extending its primary forelegs in acknowledgement of the challenge.

It leaped upward. Roberts sank to one knee and held his spade's narrow, sharpened blade upward, its handle braced on the ground. The blade skidded on the belly plates and caught between them. The demon impaled itself upon the spade. Ichor flowed over the handle. Roberts gave it a good hard twist and shove as a claw ripped across his shoulders, spraying acid. The demon curled up around the pain, pinning him in its contracting embrace. His spade was wrenched from his hands. A claw caught his shoulder. He knocked it away with his one free hand—

Suddenly Vanderveldt was there, skewering the demon with his scythe. Gupta slid in and did something quick and deadly; the demon fell away, already beginning to disintegrate. Vanderveldt turned, grabbed Roberts' smoking jacket and vest and stripped them off his back. The acid was burning through both garments. Roberts quickly shed his shirt, which was beginning to char. After checking to make sure he had no severe injuries, Vanderveldt ported him up to the rooftop and settled him by a warm chimney. "Here, Trainee, my jacket. Get those trousers off, they're starting to smoke. Use an uncontaminated bit of cloth to strip off your gloves. Sit. Stay."

Roberts sat, shivered, and watched as his Seniors finished up. Gupta had retrieved his spade and banished it. That was going to be a real job to clean, Roberts thought dazedly, along with whatever it landed on back at the office. His face, shoulders and hands were burning. His glasses had protected his eyes. Below him, Vanderveldt was guarding the Reap, whose collar was being loosened by one man while another was trying to empty his pockets. Skillfully manifesting just enough to have a little mass, Gupta nudged one human into the other. A fight began, which rolled into the street. The Reap expired. Gupta viewed the Cinematic Records and gathered in the soul. 

His Seniors joined him on the rooftop. Agent Vanderveldt had Roberts' discarded upper garments, which his partner rolled up in the comparatively sound trousers. They ported him to the supply depot where Agent Gupta dropped the ruined items on the counter. "Roberts, get into the showers. You are swelling up and blistering. Supply Officer! I want to lodge a complaint about this substandard uniform. Look at how this material is dissolving! It's supposed to hold up for at least four hours against a class I corrosive. The replacements must be of a proper quality. And I need a new _katar_. Here's the pieces of my last one." 

"Not our stock, sir. This clothing is Academy student issue, which is utterly worthless in the field. Since students do not face demons, somebody in Purchasing decided to go cheap. Then this year somebody else decided it was too expensive to issue each graduate a field kit—after all, over half of them go into Divisions that never see combat, and another fifteen percent leave Reaping within six months. The Academy's passing the expense on to the Collections Branches."

"How very surprising," said Vanderveldt in a tone of deadly calm. 

The Stockman shrugged. "The bean counters get everywhere eventually." He picked over the pile of rags. "My goodness, he did get splashed, didn't he? Where's the rest of it? Ah. He left everything else on the chair over there. Can you hand them to me? Hmmm. These are ruined. Shoes look undamaged. Let's see his watch. Okay. It was protected by his sleeve. His face was blistered so... Run him past Spectacles. The lenses are etched and the frames may be bent. I'll wash them off. He can decide whether he sees better with or without them.

"Allow me to make up a Basic Reaping Uniform Field Kit, complete with four pairs of trousers, two jackets and vests, six sets of underwear and flame-retardant socks, six pairs of gloves, two ties, and a belt. We'll deliver the kit to your apartment, minus whatever he wears home. He can pay you back later. If he wants to spend money on tailoring, I know a shop that'll do it. If you know other Seniors with new Trainees, please warn them they need to get them properly outfitted."

"Why has the Academy not announced this?"

"They did. Right before Graduation. Obviously you didn't get the memo."

"Obviously," said Vanderveldt. "Can we put these in something the acid won't eat through? Do you have a copy of the memo? I should post it in our break room."

"Here's a bag. Let me check the files. Academy, memo, memo, memo...here."

Gupta signed for the uniform kit and an evil-looking push dagger. Roberts emerged from the freezing cold emergency decontamination shower, dried off, gave his measurements and dressed quickly in new clothes that more or less fit him. His glasses rested askew on his nose. Agent Vanderveldt pulled a tie from the shelves and looped it around Roberts' neck. "Here you go, Trainee. Ready for your next Reap?" 

"Yes, Senior," lied Roberts through his chattering teeth. 

"Chandra, will you take our Junior back to the office? Fill him with hot tea and biscuits. I'll report this Ravening, collect our last Reap and join you. I think it's time we filed his apprenticeship papers and finalized his Junior status, don't you? Here, this bag has his old uniform, what's left of it. Drop it on my desk. And here are the Supplies fellow's card, the memo, and our receipt. We're giving it all to Humphries."

"He'll explode," said Gupta with satisfaction. Watching a tightly controlled person detonate could be instructive for their trainee. Humphries had a rare command of invective under certain circumstances. 

"More important, he'll investigate. He'll have the clothes as evidence. After he notifies all our Branch about this, he'll present a report to Spears. Spears will send that report to our fearsome Administrator, who will arrange all the necessary exploding of all the right people, and probably bill all the field kits back to the Academy. Maybe we'll get a refund."

* * *

"The trainee's okay. He has good instincts. Van and Chandra are quite proud of him," said Alan. "His gloves were partially dissolved by ichor, which shouldn't have affected them at all, and a simple Class I acid burned right through his suit. I've sent a memo in your name to all our staff to make sure their apprentices and trainee candidates have regulation uniforms."

"This is outrageous!" said Spears. "Honestly! To imperil those in whom so much time and education has been invested!"

Alan let it pass. Spears was perfectly correct, as far as he went. "We're going to reimburse Chandra for the field kit. Please don't argue. This is at Madame Administrator's pay grade, not mine or yours. She needs to find out if that memo circulated to the other Branches - were we the only ones not notified? Querying of other Branches should come from her level, preferably one of her colleagues. We need to know if this was incompetence or malice, miserliness or embezzlement. 

"My name must not be mentioned. This is the second time I have called your attention to the Academy's shortcomings. They could fire me, and my partner as well. We like our students, Will. Who will train 'em properly if we're not there, handing out materials not covered in their books and teaching them how to fight for their lives?"

"I will explain your concerns to her. We recognize the advantages your teaching position gives us. Believe me, we do not want to lose them."

"Something else, Will—there is always something else, these days, isn't there—the cleanup crew found three more demons in the area. They were low-ranking fiends, too cowardly to honor their agreement. This was the third Ravening this year where demons brought underlings along. All three have been composed of one or two senior entities leading a bunch of novices.

"There are no humans attempting to summon demons. All this activity is from Hell itself. Gupta and Vanderveldt were lucky. Anders and Brandon weren't. I think Hell is ramping up its forces, just as we are. So does Eric. He says he's seen it all before. I can tell it worries him. Please pass that along to Madame as well. Could you ask her if there have been Ravenings like this in other cities? Because I think they're training exercises, all of them. If demons learn to cooperate on a mutually held Contract, we're dead."


	9. Investigations begin

"We called in all our Trainees and first and second year Juniors at once, Madame. All the second years had received proper Field Kits at graduation. None of the others had safety clothing, nor had been warned that they needed any. We have ordered them all to stand down until they can be properly equipped. We have sent their measurements to Supplies, as requested in the memo. The memo did not include London in the cc: list. I have spoken to my fellow Directors in Leeds, Carlisle, Manchester and Liverpool. All but London were properly notified. All are upset about the sudden expense. Bristol is filing a complaint against the Academy for not announcing this decision before the annual budgets were finalized, with many other Branches joining in. I have instructed Humphries to add a substantial amount to our next budget to cover this expense and any other surprises that might suddenly appear."

"I will approve that item. I will talk to my colleagues, then to my superiors. The obvious question is, what is the Academy doing with the money they have saved? It is not really so large an amount. They could have saved themselves a great deal of protest by deciding to provide kits only to the graduates accepted into Collections. What else has been cut or skimped? You have mentioned class sizes; they've not hired more teachers. Who benefits? I think Accounting needs to see their books. Both sets, for I know there are two. Or three. No, two, for this was not cleverly done. Once they endangered our trainees, they guaranteed discovery. Perhaps they think the money already spent and unreclaimable. Unless they thought we would hush it up."

"Many Branches, Madame, place very little value on their Juniors until their fourth or fifth year."

"True. That might also be the attitude of the persons who made this decision and did not notify us. Director Spears, you will make sure that all of our new hires are fully equipped. Do not charge their Seniors for them. If the Branch pays for the kits, they're ours. Make sure that all items are of the first quality. Tell your youngsters to keep their Academy suits in case they decide to transfer into other Divisions. If any of them leave, reclaim their field uniforms to serve as a supply of emergency replacements for items lost by Reapers in the line of duty. While you are at it, check their weapons. Make sure Scythes didn't fob them off with factory seconds. Report back. I want to know how far this rot extends."

"Yes, Madame."

"This is beginning to look like enemy action, Director Spears. Our people are being made vulnerable at the same time that Ravenings are increasing. I do not like coincidences. Especially coincidences confined to one specific Division and Branch."

"Yes, Madame."

"Mr. Humphries and Mr. Slingby are to display cheerful, respectful obedience to their superiors at the Academy while continuing to enrich their teaching of their students. They will keep their heads down while further inquiries are made. I am going to have tea with a friend in Accounting. She will become curious. It is her job and her talent to become curious when coincidences begin to pile up. If she finds any hint that this was not pragmatic cost-cutting and secretarial incompetence, the Academy is going to suffer a tactical strike, also known as an Unannounced Financial Audit."

"Yes, Madame!"

* * *

"Mr. Humphries, a moment, please? In private."

"Of course, Mr. D'Acres, what can I do for you?" Alan closed his office door and offered D'Acres a chair.

" _Sub rosa_ , Mr. Humphries, agreed?"

"Of course." 

"A message from my wife. Your classes may be disturbed tomorrow. Whatever happens, be ready to keep your students to their regular schedules. If called away for an interview, be surprised and cooperative. Answer all questions briefly, with perfect truth. Do not attempt to contact any other teacher or school official during this period; warn Mr. Slingby to do the same and to hold his temper in check. Tell him in private. Tell no one else of this conversation. Especially Mr. Spears, who needs to be genuinely surprised."

"Please extend my gratitude and thanks to Sarah, and assure her of my absolute and complete ignorance of all of this. I hope this did not endanger her in any way? I assume this is an Administrative inquiry into the front offices, not the classrooms?"

"More like the Spanish Inquisition, with Mad Bomber and Invasion From Mars. Truly, the less you know the better. But your students are not the target. You just need to keep them in place if there is a commotion. Ideally, this all will be done quietly. Combat classes outside will likely not even notice."

"Thanks, Roland. I admit my own reaction would be to lock the kids in the classroom, stand out in the hall and defend the door with my life; totally inappropriate and unnecessary. Tell Sarah she shouldn't have to worry about the other teachers. They're all academics, not fighters. As I will pretend to be. Nobody would buy that from Eric, of course, but I'll warn him, and he'll deal with the situation."

"That will do nicely, Alan. Sarah's whole purpose is to prevent the two of you from forting up and irritating the investigators. As you say, none of your colleagues will be a problem. Eric, however, would organize his upperclassmen into a strike force if he thought you were under siege. Again, let me stress that ideally there will be no ruckus."

* * *

"...I have no idea, and no right to speculate. But Eric, what if the Academy really was under attack? Most of the staff and the underclassmen would need protection. All they would have would be you and me, the other drill instructors and the untried upperclassmen, and that only if you and I were on campus at the time. Can we think about this? What if the attack occurred at night with everyone asleep? Or at mealtime, in that crowded cafeteria where the students would be caught among tables and chairs and unable to run? Only two doors in the whole room."

"Och, bring it up at the next Staff meeting. They're conservative, not stupid. Ye'll find there will be protections in place that need not be explained to part-time staff living offsite."

"You're right. Especially with the Research and Scientific labs and facilities on the south campus. So. Innocence and cooperation. If necessary, which it may not be."

"Innocence ye want. From me. Now, my Light, when have I ever been innocent, and whenever have ye wanted me to be?"

"Fake it. Tomorrow. Tonight I prefer you in your natural impure state. Why are you still dressed, rather than in your natural state?"

* * *

_Exerpt from an unofficial after-action report from Sarah Goodfellow, Senior Records Manager, Auditing, to the Collections Division Administrator:_

...The funds taken from the school's budget—from books, instructors, support staff, food, equipment, clothing, anywhere they could nip or trim or pare a penny—went straight to the Research Division. They are setting up a campus lab for weapons development and testing. Rather than appeal upwards for a budget extension, which would have taken several months, they suborned a high-level management group in the Academy's administration. Their plan was to have a number of inventions in hand when they submitted their next Budget, which will be perhaps triple their current amount. Their aims are good but their methods are deplorable. Their upper management will be investigated further, as will their collaborators at the school...There will be demotions and removals.

The field kits purchased for this year's Trainees will be reimbursed from Research's funds, which will remain under the control of the Auditors for the forseeable future...

The omission of London from the notification list was deliberate. The secretary who sent the memo stated that she obeyed instructions from her superior. That superior is one of the managers bribed by Research. We are tracking down exactly who originated this omission; they will be dealt with. We suspect a collaboration with the Demonic Realm. The Ravenings in London are not a coincidence. This was an attempt to weaken your ability to counter them...

Be aware, Madame, that Research holds a great animosity for London. It is based on fear, guilt and anger; they flee where none pursueth. They mishandled Agent Humphries' illness badly. They were thwarted in their attempts to secure his body for vivisection and dissection. He escaped them, he has survived and thriven, he is intelligent and on a promotion path, and they know that he cannot be bought, bullied, bludgeoned or beguiled. They see in him a dedicated enemy who will someday achieve power in a Branch that has defended him and is becoming loyal to him. He is popular with his students, who will someday be his allies in all Branches. London has taken the best of the graduates. By endangering them, Research hoped to remove future opponents who would be loyal to Humphries.

We intend to eradicate this mindset. We will not permit a Division to declare a civil war within our Realm.


	10. Midnight on the trauma ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth Ravening

Spears had suggested Humphries should lie down. Humphries had declined. Eyes glassy with painkillers, bleeding through his dressings, Humphries sat by his partner's bed and continued a reassuring murmur. He was holding his partner's hands to keep him from plucking at his bandages.

Slingby was in critical condition. Humphries was recovering at an acceptable rate. Slingby was not. His wounds were deep and poisoned. He tossed and muttered feverishly. Attempts at restraint had provoked violent resistance. The doctors had administered a wide range of antivenins. Sedation would not be given until the coverage was seen to be complete. Humphries' quiet voice kept Slingby from raving and trying to port away. 

The doctor declared himself solidly on Humphries' side. Humphries' condition was reasonably stable. If he could keep his partner horizontal until the antivenins took hold, good. Slingby could then be heavily sedated and Humphries could rest.

Spears worried about that. He did not like to see rules changed without explanation. It usually meant that trouble was hidden in the fine print. Reapers, serving an eternal punishment, were easily addicted to anything that would blur their pain. The medical services never dispensed more than the most minimal analgesics, preferring to treat alcoholism rather than drug dependency. Yet Agents Humphries and Sutcliff had been generously dosed, and the doctor was intending to snow Slingby. Possibly this was because the Infirmary was short-staffed and unusually busy. Still, he must request that this departure from procedure be clarified. Spears also made a note to review any prescriptions given when his people were released. 

Spears walked down the darkened ward. Still and pale, comatose, Ronald Knox was rigidly braced and immobilized. Head and spine injuries took longer to respond to treatment. There was no sign of improvement, or even of life. Some varieties of demon venom, whether sting or claw or bite, acted to suppress healing. Spears moved on.

Grell Sutcliff lay splinted, bandaged and heavy-eyed. "They attacked in a group, Will, scorpion demons, um, spider demons, something snakey, and a boatload of lesser devils. We were gathered after our last Reaps, up on the rooftops, ready to come in to start the paperwork. They swarmed us. Is Ronnie all right, Will? They knocked him senseless and threw him off the roof. I think he landed on his head or shoulders. The doctors won't tell me anything." 

"Mr. Knox has been treated. Please tell me what you can. Mr. Slingby is delirious and Mr. Humphries is busy keeping him calm." 

"The thing is, Will - the thing is, they did not even try to steal the souls we had gathered. They were after us, trying to kill us, us Reapers. Not at all the usual pattern. No confrontation, no threats or demands, just a sudden rush." Grell closed her eyes, took a rattling breath.

"Eric was seized from behind. Stung twice. Alan killed that one, but others attacked and clawed them badly. Eric and Alan fought back-to-back, Eric on his knees and Alan standing. Amazing." Grell coughed blood. "More of them overran Ronnie, clawed him, threw him away, came after me. I ripped their bellies open. Taught them not to annoy a lady." Cough. "When we killed the big ones the lessers ran. Alan ported Eric to the infirmary, came back with help and a stretcher. We brought Ronnie in as carefully as we could." Cough. Less blood this time. "We tried not to jostle his head or neck, but—oh, Will—is he going to recover?"

"The doctors have done what they can. Now we must wait."

"Will, please sit down, stay a while with me?" 

Because none could deny that a proper manager should support his subordinates in difficult situations, and because anything Grell might say could be blamed on drugs, he drew up a chair and sat. This kept him out of the way of medical staff. As long as he appeared to be performing the same service as Humphries, they would not ask him to leave. Under the thin blanket he took her hand. He supplied a stream of the most boring reassurances until Grell drowsed off. 

He looked over at Knox. No change.

This was the fourth Ravening of the year, the largest, the most organized, the most successful. One might argue that Sutcliff and Slingby had been deliberately targeted. 

A targeted strike. On the Reapers that demons feared most. On his people. His Grell. Humphries had warned him. He had not responded quickly enough. 

Grell whimpered in her sleep; he had squeezed her hand too hard. He took a deep breath and centered himself. Rage was an emotion. Emotion was to be suppressed. Inappropriate in a business setting. Inefficient. Unproductive. What was needed now was planning. Cold unemotional planning. With revenge a naturally occurring side effect of careful, cold, unemotional planning.

Five major demons working in concert. All dead, having underestimated their foe. Each with three or four servants, who ran home as soon as their leaders fell. The leaders continued to work together when the fight went badly for them. Their treaty to defend each other had failed to bind their underlings. Was their agreement only made among the leaders, whose pride did not admit the possibility of failure? Were they too jealous to allow their servants to take orders from a rival? The servants had made no attempt to avenge their masters. Too stupid? Too cowardly? Disloyal by nature? Present against their will, given insufficient orders, left unbound by mistake? Things would have been much worse if the lesser devils had held their ground.

Slingby. Humphries. Knox. Grell. He might lose Knox. He could have lost them all. Unacceptable, completely unacceptable. He tugged the blanket higher on Grell's chest.

Somewhere in the demonic realm, Spears' opposite number would be raging. Raging, yes, but also learning. There would be another assault. More major demons, perhaps; with capable second-rank demons rather than nearly mindless servants; all bound in Contract, not just the highest ranks. His Reapers would be outmatched. Too few, too lightly armed, many with apprentices to defend.

The apprentices were a logical target. Kill them before they matured into seasoned warriors. Or traumatize them enough to transfer into the support services. But so far most of the injuries had been to Seniors, who were the immediate threat. 

As Humphries would say, above his pay grade. Time to ask for help. This was work for the Angels. They were the first-line defense of the Human Realm. Where had they been during this last incursion? For such a large invasion, alarms should have rung in their Garrison. Why had they not responded? The Highest cared for these souls, every one of them, yet—oh.

The Angels had not responded because the demons had not gone after the souls. They had ignored the alarms because the only target was the Reapers. His Reapers. Angels despised them as failed souls condemned to a well-deserved punishment. Their fate was to fall in combat, their souls devoured or damned. The Angels saw no reason to interfere. 

Rage was an emotion. Emotion was to be suppressed. Cold unemotional planning. And, eventually, a serving of cold revenge, sauced with the blood of the enemy.

He stood up carefully, so as not to disturb Grell. Her bruises were fading. Healing was going well. He went over to Knox's bed. "Mr. Knox, I will not have you neglecting your duties. I expect to see your paperwork as usual at the end of the week." Did an eyelid twitch?

He walked toward the door. Slingby was quiet at last. Humphries was in the next bed. The doctor nodded at Spears.

Spears went to wake up Madame Administrator.


	11. Reactions

Madame Administrator poured tea. The Divine Representative selected a scone. "Please accept my condolences for the misfortune that has befallen your Reapers. How is dear Grell doing? Will she be able to attend our next bridge party?"

"Both she and the Head Nurse should be available by then. I, however, may be too busy. We are under attack, my dear, and my responsibilities may keep me away. The loss of two teams weakens us greatly. Agents Slingby and Humphries will recover, but Agent Knox is still in danger. As we cannot depend on the Angels to defend us, we expect further losses." 

"Surely the London Garrison will respond to a group incursion from the Demonic Realm? It is their responsibility to do so."

"They have declared that while they are most assiduous in their protection of human souls, they cannot be expected to provide any coverage of Reapers. We are tainted beings under a Divine Judgement and they may not interfere with our fates."

"Really. They intend to sit on their downy feathers while the Reapers are wiped out, then show up with a trumpet fanfare after the demons have eaten half the souls in the Human Realm? It appears that the Garrison needs a quick reminder that they, like you, belong to the Army of the Archangel Michael and do not get to pick and choose which of their duties they perform. Nor may they declare their allies expendable."

"Will you speak for us, Maggie? Will it cause trouble for you?"

"I did not rebuild Alan Humphries from a DNA sequence just to have him dismissed as unworthy of help by a bunch of arrogant pigeons. Not one of whom, incidentally, can play a decent hand of bridge. Likewise our Grell will not be abandoned to a Ravening out of laziness and prejudice, no, nor you, nor any of your people. Eliza, my dear, expect a Visitation within the next day or two. If they show the least little sign of resentment or sulkiness, do let me know at once. I will see them busted back to naked cherubs, posing for candy boxes and Valentine's Day cards."

"Please don't get into trouble for us—"

"The trouble will not be mine. Michael isn't very good at cards either. He owes me. Not that it really matters in obvious cases of dereliction of duty. He likes to keep the lower ranks on their toes. They do tend to get above themselves. Your people will be defended from group attacks. They'll still be on their own for individual foraging demons, as always."

"We are very grateful, my dear. Could you also inform Azrael? Technically we are his servants. I have appealed upwards but there has been no reply. Another word for Michael; we suspect there was a recent collusion between the Academy and the Demonic Realm related to the Ravenings. Could there be a related bargain behind the Garrison's decision to stand aside? I happen to have a most interesting and unofficial report from Auditing..."

* * *

Director Spears had spent hours rescheduling his Reapers. All underequipped Juniors were now on desk duty only. Scythes had sent a Senior and two Juniors to examine their scythes. They had pronounced them all to be genuine first-rate quality, and why wouldn't they be, Director? All their tools were triply inspected before they hit the display shelves, and inspected again when claimed by a Reaper. There were some ruffled feathers until the uniform debacle had been explained. Scythes was appalled and scandalized. They stamped each item Approved and rushed off to spread the gossip.

Supplies, anxious to distance themselves from scandal, began delivering field kits of the highest quality, even throwing in small extra items as a goodwill gesture. Two interns were laboring over their cataloging and distribution.

All available Juniors and Seniors were sharing the Reaps which would have been assigned to the injured teams. Spears had incurred several obligations to other cities who had lent him experienced teams. There were enough to decrease the size of the territories each team must cover, putting help closer to hand in all cases.

Someone from the Academy sent a snippy note about Slingby and Humphries not showing up to teach. Spears replied with a .45 caliber memo detailing the situation and listing the possible consequences if his Reapers were penalized for being injured in the line of duty.

In Humphries' absence, piles of paper were accumulating. His intern was frantically sorting out those documents that required immediate official attention from those which could be handled by an underling. Stacks appeared on the Director's desk. Spears' headache was back. Without Grell or Slingby to snap at, his temper raveled and frayed. He constrained himself, with difficulty, but he did not want his borrowed Reapers to go home with stories about how unpleasant London's Director was to his staff. Nor was it necessary to give his own staff any additional stress. He must delegate where possible. The deskbound Juniors and interns were an untapped resource. Those who developed a taste for paperwork would probably transfer to Admin, but those who came to hate it would be Reapers forever.

He settled them all down in a meeting room. Two teams generated reports, then passed their work across the table for proofing. A third team took on the stacks of collection reports and expense forms. A fourth, smaller team batched completed paperwork, filled out cover letters, and ran the completed piles over to Admin for filing. He dropped by every two hours to attend to the stack which required his signature or initials. When the Juniors began to look a bit ragged, he nearly lectured them about duty. At the last moment, he thought about what Humphries would say. Instead, he arranged for delivery of tea, sandwiches and sweets. The staff ate, perked up and soldiered on. Spears made a mental note about fueling the organism. He returned to his office with a sandwich and tea. 

That night he visited the Infirmary. His rank guaranteed his entry after hours, but not without a stern admonition to allow the patients their rest. The doctor took him into an office for a report on their progress.

"Mr. Sutcliff will be ready for discharge tomorrow. I suggest he remain here until you get off work. He will be unsteady on his feet for a day or two, and I would not like to have him back here after falling and possibly reinjuring himself. He should be kept at home for two days. Then you may ease him back into his duties after that. Not too quickly, please.

"Mr. Knox has shown few signs of improvement. We expect that to change tomorrow as the last of the venom leaves his system and his nerves begin to regenerate. We cannot predict beyond that.

"Both Mr. Slingby and Mr. Humphries are in a deep healing sleep. Please do not try to wake them. Mr. Slingby is recovering adequately. Mr. Humphries' recovery seems a little slower. Both should regain consciousness tomorrow. Their scars will heal and eventually fade away. Should Mr. Slingby's scars limit his range of motion we will intervene surgically, but that is rarely necessary.

"Mr. Sutcliff is awake and expecting you. Do see if you can keep him quiet, for the sake of the other patients."

Spears entered the darkened ward. Slingby and Humphries were indeed out cold. Humphries had long lacerations from hairline to chin. He'd been lucky not to lose that eye, which would have required weeks to regenerate. His left hand was resting on his chest, his ring glowing faintly. Spears assumed Slingby's was also, under his bandages. He glared down repressively at the ring. "That could give them away at night, you know. If their gloves were torn." The glow dimmed, then flared and returned to its original level. Had he just been given a rude gesture by an inanimate object? He almost smiled. That ring was very like its wearer.

Silently he paused by Knox's bed. No visible change. There would be a price for this, which Hell would pay weeping. 

He set a chair by Grell's bed and sat. She stirred, fretfully, and opened her eyes. "Will? I was hoping you would come. I want to go home, Will, please take me home." 

"Tomorrow after dinner, Grell, I have permission." He took her hand. "Think you can last until then? There's no paperwork here, after all. I see you coaxed a softer blanket from someone."

Grell woke a little further. "Well, the Scousers' Junior is working here on the day shift. Remember Junior Agent Collins? Training to be a nurse. He's taking special care of us. Snuck in new blankets and fresh pillows, bless his little heart and hide. Nothing he can do about the food, though. Oh, Will, I want a bubble bath, a clean soft nightgown that isn't open in the back, and my own bed." 

"And you shall have it. I am to come for you tomorrow after work. I will draw your bath, shampoo your hair and tuck you in for the night. You will have two days' rest, doctor's orders, and then return to your desk. Your chainsaw pines for your touch."

"Will, I love you. Do me a favor? I know damn well they're doping me to keep me quiet. Make 'em stop, please? I promise not to create a nuisance for the other patients. Whatever they are giving me upsets my stomach and makes me dizzy. I do not want to go home stumbling like a drunk."

He looked at her contracted pupils. "I'll see to it. If necessary I will post a guard on your bed."

Grell drifted off. Spears stood. At last he had a target for his headache-induced temper. Which he really should not indulge. Unless the doctor proved unreasonable. Perhaps he might request a headache cure.

He resolved to find Humphries a full-time assistant. No, two. Headaches were counterproductive.


	12. A gradual improvement

Junior Orderly Collins stood by the next morning as Senior Sutcliff's bandages and splints were removed. Once the doctor had finished his examination, Collins gave her a bed bath. From some hidden store he brought a clean gown and a bathrobe that wasn't too scratchy, and a pair of slippers. She took his arm for a walk up and down the ward. At the front of the room her knees wobbled. A chair suddenly appeared behind her. She sat, a little more abruptly than she intended.

"Hey, Red." Slingby was awake, although he didn't appear to be enjoying it much.

"Hey, Scot. How goes it for you?" 

"Medium miserably, thanks. How does Alan look? I know he's right over there but I can't see him."

"He's asleep. Not as pretty as he was. Who here is? My hair is a fright and I've broken two nails. But I can go home tonight." 

"'At's good. Ronnie?"

"Twitches occasionally. It's an improvement. What do you know about him, Mr. Collins?"

"No more than you, Senior, and forbidden to speak if I did. Only the doctor may discuss a patient's condition. Would you like me to call Mr. Spears and ask him to bring you some street clothes when he picks you up tonight? The clothes you arrived in are unwearable and probably unrepairable."

"Nicely dodged. Yes, please. Are you enjoying your new position?"

"Yes, Senior. Right now they're waiting to see if a term of trotting bedpans will cool my enthusiasm. Hasn't yet. They won't be rid of me that easily. Once I go back to the Academy for postgrad instruction it's going to be fascinating. I really think I can be a better help to the Realm in Medical than in Collections. Now, Miss Sutcliff, you need to stand before you stiffen up in that position. Time for you to get back into bed and rest. I'll make your call as soon as you're tucked in."

Grell rose awkwardly to lean on Collins' arm. She made her painful way back down the ward. She was asleep as soon as she laid down. He covered her warmly and returned to make the call to Spears.

"Collins." Slingby lifted his hand. Collins stepped up to his bedside. "Red said not pretty. Explain."

"Well, you are rather worn at the moment."

"Don't evade. She was talking about Alan. Tell me."

Collins looked around, saw no one official, leant down as if adjusting the bedding. "Face clawed but healing," he whispered. "Eyes, nose, mouth okay. Ear regenerating. Scars will eventually fade. Should awaken soon." He straightened up. "Would you like the head of your bed raised up a little, Senior? Something to read? Some water?"

"Aye, please. Water. Newspaper?" And much lower he whispered, "She's ever been jealous of good looks."

* * *

Madame Administrator offered a chair to the Entity who was the Colonel of the London Garrison. It had assumed the shape of a greying Human male; rigid, erect, and authoritarian. Madame Administrator was not impressed. She knew what It really looked like. This manifestation was gauged to place It in the paternalistic position of giving orders and expecting obedience. Madame Administrator knew insecurity and bluster when she saw it. This Being had been reprimanded and given orders It did not want to obey. It considered Itself of sufficient rank to redefine those orders in a way that did not lessen Its opinion of Its own importance, or in any way change Its original course of action.

The Entity began a condescending monologue detailing Its determination to continue as before. Madame sat motionless and waited for the point where It realized that this was not going as expected. The monologue sputtered, stuttered, lost its place, backed up and finally drifted into silence.

Madame Administrator folded her hands. "Now, Colonel, let us return to reality, shall we? Since you have disobeyed your orders to cooperate fully—and I have a copy of your orders, so do not waffle about them—I shall report your noncompliance and hostility. I believe we are done here. Go back to your Garrison, Colonel, and send me someone I can work with; specifically, your senior Captain. I need someone who knows what's going on and can do something about it. Oh, and once this has been done, I suggest you pack. You will find yourself reassigned. Good day."

* * *

Captain Artois was on high alert. His Colonel had been abruptly removed from the Garrison. This was not entirely a bad thing, but what other surprises might he be presented with? He had studied the new Orders, which basically boiled down to Do Your Job. He had no problem whatsoever with that. He knew there were new developments involving the Demonic Realm's activities in the Human Realm, and that Reapers were being targeted. He had insufficient data to plan a response. He had requested an urgent meeting with the Director of the London Branch of the Collections Division, Mr. William T. Spears.

Spears' department was a whirlwind of activity. Youngsters fresh out of school were running everywhere, but their motion was scripted and logical; there was no confusion. Spears stepped out of a meeting room filled with paper and paper-pushers. He bowed formally and ushered the Captain to his office. The room was functional and utilitarian. Captain Artois approved.

Spears delivered a concise report of recent events. He then described the Ravenings and offered opinions on the reasons for them, clearly stating that these were not proven. Captain Artois was introduced to Senior Reapers Gupta, Vanderveldt, Brandon and Anders, and Junior Roberts, all of whom had experienced group attacks. He was also presented with the reports each had filed. He was invited to ask any and all questions he wished. When he had taken copious notes and pronounced himself satisfied, Spears guided him to a higher floor where they entered a much larger office. Spears introduced the Captain and abandoned him to the mercy of Madame Administrator.

Captain Artois bowed respectfully to a tall grey Reaper of high rank. This fearsome woman had just gotten a Colonel relieved of the duties he had been neglecting for the last century. She was due all honor and a bit of gratitude. When she offered him tea and biscuits, he accepted politely.

When they had properly observed all the courtesies, she asked how much he knew of the current situation in the Human city of London. 

"The alarms have been ringing, Madame, or did until the Colonel had them shut off. I assume they were legitimate but we were told they were false alerts and forbidden to investigate."

"Those alarms were genuine, Captain. Let me bring you up to date. First, what we know. Demons have been attacking Reapers. They arrive in organized groups, composed of individuals who have been bound into agreements which force them to cooperate. Those individuals also bring servants who assist but are not bound. They desert if their superiors are slain. Each group is larger in number than the previous one. 

"Second, what we expect. The Ravenings will become larger and more frequent. The participants will be higher-ranking and all will be bound. 

"Third, what we suspect. There has been evidence of collusion at high levels, both our Realm and yours, with Demonic representatives. There is also evidence that the Human Realm is heading toward general warfare. We are preparing for it as best we can, and so is the Demon Realm. Hell wishes to diminish our numbers, so that it may sweep up unprotected souls with as little interference as possible. If the Ravenings in London become successful, they will spread elsewhere very rapidly. We believe these are training exercises for operations on future battlefields.

"Fourth, what we ask. Rapid response. Better alarms. More of them. Our Reapers have been badly injured within seconds of a Ravening manifesting in the Human Realm. We ask that the Garrison respond to all alarms immediately and in force; that you protect our Reapers from gang assaults, and allow them to continue to perform their duties as Divinely decreed. That you impress upon the Demonic Realm that these incursions will not be tolerated. Simply put, that you perform your duty as it was originally defined.

"Fifth, what we do not ask. We have always defended ourselves from Demons acting alone or in pairs, and will continue to do so. We will continue to patrol for breeding demons and destroy their nests without asking your help. We ask for no additional support in our traditional daily duties. 

"Would you like another cup of tea?"

"Indeed, I would, Madame. Thank you kindly. I would like some time to investigate and review, but obviously there is no time to spare. I believe I can suggest a few things to begin with. Firstly, the alarms to be reactivated and improved. Secondly, our regular patrols of the streets of London to be restarted. They were cancelled six months ago, no reason given. All those patrols to be armed and alert for Demonic incursions. Thirdly, those patrols to be increased. It would help to have more personnel. If I request an increase in staff, would you be willing to add your signature?

"At first we are bound to stumble over each other and to have a few false alarms. We should adjust fairly quickly, though. If my Sergeants can meet your commanding Seniors, they can begin discussing the most efficient ways to cooperate."

Madame Administrator finished taking notes. "Indeed, sir, there are Senior Reapers I want your sergeants to meet at once. Come with me. We are going to our Infirmary. May I take your arm?"

Captain Artois stood and extended his arm. Madame Administrator laid her hand upon it and _—zzip!—_ ported him into a long hall. She guided him into a ward with a line of beds. The first bed on the left was occupied by a Reaper who had given up on his newspaper. The next bed in line held another whose face was badly scored. 

"Captain Artois, allow me to present Senior Collections Agent Eric Slingby. Mr. Slingby witnessed the latest Ravening. And this is his partner, Mr. Alan Humphries, also present for that attack. Mr. Slingby, Mr. Humphries, this is Captain Artois of the London Garrison, who will be helping us discourage visiting groups of Demons."

Slingby was a kindred soul, an old soldier of the Realm. Humphries was a sober little fellow who looked like a planner, even when only half-awake. Definitely promising allies, but not up to much at the moment. "Gentlemen, when you are better rested I would be very grateful if you would consent to a strategy meeting with my senior NCO. Tomorrow, perhaps, when you have slept and breakfasted?"

Agent Slingby smiled slightly. "Yes, sir." Humphries moved a hand in agreement.

The visitors took their leave. Out in the hall, Madame said, "Our people are not used to thinking of Angels as allies. Too many of us have been injured when your people indulged in internal politics while in the Human Realm. Some have been slain while collecting souls of innocent bystanders cut down during disputes between Holy and Fallen. That needs to stop, along with the attitude that Reapers and Humans alike are contemptible beings unworthy of respect. Trust will not come easily or quickly. Those two can lead their colleagues to work with you. Mr. Humphries is the assistant administrator of this Branch and can help our mutual plans go smoothly. Mr. Slingby is a combat Reaper of many centuries' experience. Both survived an assault which should have killed them. If your people and ours can cooperate with mutual consideration, I think we may survive what is coming."

* * *

Color-Sergeant Bourne, a scarred veteran of many celestial wars, had visited his subordinates in hospitals before. They were all the same. Lights too bright, sharp smells of disinfectants over the stink of illness, beeping equipment, bare floors and walls that echoed. Cold rooms and food that tasted of soap. Constant bustle to interrupt sleep. All designed to make the patients want to go home and never return.

The patients he was visiting were recovering from significant injuries. Agent Slingby was on the mend from a severe poisoning along with multiple wounds. Agent Humphries was not as badly poisoned but had sustained a vicious clawing. Both were propped up slightly. Neither was drugged. There was an interesting harmonic between them; rings, seeking balance. Strength and healing were being transferred from the little one to the big one. Bourne deduced that these two shared quarters and had not been discharged because neither was well enough to care for the other. 

An orderly brought in a stool from an examination room. It was high enough that he could sit while still being easily seen by the men in the beds. Coffee was offered. The patients were urged to summon him if they needed anything. The orderly departed, leaving them in relative privacy except for nurses coming in and out, tending patients in beds further down.

They all introduced themselves.

"Sirs, I wish to discuss cooperative efforts to counter Ravenings in the Human Realm."

Agent Slingby shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. You want to move as quickly as possible. You need to meet with the team of Vanderveldt, Gupta and Roberts. They also were the target of a Ravening recently. Got out of it better than we did; more warning, smaller attack group, not as focused."

"I have read their reports and will meet with them later today. I would like to have some suggestions from you about communication and response. We have begun setting out additional sensors in the City, newer and more sensitive models. The older ones will be replaced once we have better coverage. This will alert us, but how best to also alert your agents in the field? Ideally they should not be caught in the crossfire between a Ravening and a Patrol."

"Agreed. I've been there. Both sides attacked right through me. The Angels complained that I was in the way. Tell them to stop that? It's not good for subsequent cooperation. The alert should include coordinates so we can port to one side."

"Spectacles," said Humphries. "See Director Anderson. Our glasses are tracked by Monitors who send for help if they are broken. Have them alert you as well. Maybe the tracking devices could be modified? Create something that can be triggered by the wearer? Or be triggered by the presence of more than two demons?"

"Can't require a free hand to activate," said Slingby. "Too busy defending yourself. Self-activating sensor is better."

"Yes. Monitors alert Angels—no. Too long a delay. Angels who watch their own sensors? Move them in with the Monitors. Same room, instant communications. Maybe combine signals from both sets of alarms. Route both to single reporting system, simultaneous alerts."

Bourne frowned. "For now, I can post a rota to your Monitoring station to begin learning the ropes. Our own sensors directly ring alarms in the Garrison. They don't carry coordinates, they just report an area. It basically floods the area with troops looking for trouble. We need to update that."

Humphries was fading. "Talk to Research? They owe us."

"They do but they don't like us much right now," countered Slingby. "Move their development team into London. Having your ass on the line improves concentration no end. That would also allow them to have a look at how the Angelic sensors respond to Demonic activity, which might help them with the personal alarms. Maybe offer those to the Angelic patrols as well?" 

"Got a couple of former students working Research. I wrote recommendations for them when they applied. Bright. Gadgeteers. Too young, inexperienced, enthusiastic to have objections to working with Angels. Make sure they are on the team. Franklin and Cole," said Humphries. "Nice kids. Treat them well and they'll work hard for you. Ask Spears to request it. I'll facilitate it as soon as I'm back at work." He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Bourne. 

"Cooperation will become more genuine with trust. Your troops have to lose the habit of treating us like a rat infestation. Our teams have to get over considering you a menace second only to demons. Bad experiences on both sides. Each side must give the other a chance. We'll work on our side. You?"

"Agreed. One hopes that working together will eventually lead to mutual respect."

"Eventually," said Slingby, "Takes time. In about ten years the Human Realm is going to self-destruct. By then we had better be on good terms or Hell will roll right over us."

Color-Sergeant Bourne wanted to learn all he could about that. Unfortunately a passing nurse must have noticed that her patients were getting overtired. Orders were issued by a Head Nurse of terrifying authority. Quickly Bourne and Slingby agreed to meet and continue the discussion as soon as their schedules permitted. Contact details were exchanged as Bourne was hustled out of the ward and firmly sent on his way.

 _Good men,_ thought Bourne. _Those two are valuable allies. Access to Research & Development. Better alarms. Cooperation at the management and street levels. Time to report to the Captain. And...Ten years, is it? Indeed. I want to hear his reasoning._


	13. The reward for a job well done...

_Three doctors, consulting in a small room:_

"So, I've these two patients. Avowed partners. Eric Slingby, a 433-year veteran. Alan Humphries, with only 21 years of service. He was that case of Thorns a while back. Both died and were recalled to service fifteen years ago. Both bodies essentially received a factory reset. No physical problems since, no mental problems suggested, doing well in their current jobs, the younger on a promotion track.

"Slingby was badly stung and clawed. Humphries was clawed and stabbed. Both treated with antivenins. Slingby is healing pretty well but doesn't look right. Humphries should be healing faster than he is. Something is going on that I don't understand and I hate it."

"Avowed partners. You do get some interesting effects there sometimes."

"They really haven't been together that long. Don't those effects sort of build up over time?"

"Hold on a minute. I think I heard a rumor. Is Junior Orderly Collins on duty? Let me call him in here—Hey, kid. Were you at that Midsummer party that Dispatch threw at the Academy? Did those two in Ward Three rededicate? Wasn't there something unusual, there?"

"Not sure what 'unusual' might be, Doctor. I can tell you what I know. I was well back in the crowd and couldn't see everything. Once the bonfire was started, the two of them were there with an Elder or Higher Up. Very senior man, he'd come to witness a declaration between another Reaper and an Admin. He witnessed for our patients as well. They exchanged rings and vows. The Elder blessed them, or maybe blessed the rings? And everybody suddenly felt wonderful, like maybe things weren't as bad as we think and maybe there was hope in the world. For just a moment, there seemed to be a light that wasn't from the fire."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins, you have made things much clearer for us. You may go."

"—Okay. He's down the hall. Want to explain that?"

"The rings. They are seeking balance. They are supporting the weaker with the strength of the stronger."

"Should we remove the rings?"

"Heavens, no. You'd have to remove the whole finger. Possibly the whole hand, depending on the extent of their bond."

"I think I see. I need to examine Slingby very closely. There's an occult problem I didn't catch. Treat that and both of them will improve dramatically."

"It's going to be subtle. I bet it's a toxin. Suppose we all go have a look, run some tests."

"Might be an abscess in one of the deeper wounds. Could also be a foreign object—"

"This works both ways, remember. We must check Humphries as well. But I think you are right in suspecting an undetected problem with Slingby."

* * *

Now that all his first-year hires were fully outfitted, William T. Spears was working on the duty schedule. He was assigning teams with new apprentices to territories bounded with those worked by experienced Seniors with apprentices of more than three years of experience. If a call for help was issued, only one trainee should require protection.

The teams he had borrowed from other cities would have to be returned soon. Still, this years' newly-promoted Seniors were particularly competent. They were working well together in the teams Will assigned. Partnerships were forming.

Now he must consider his invalids. Knox was in hospital for the foreseeable future. If he recovered, he might recover very quickly. On the other hand, he might require a lengthy rehabilitation. His absence must be considered long-term. Who, then, should he partner with Grell? Someone steady, tolerant, and sensible.

Slingby and Humphries were still not back. A very good team. Nevertheless, both would be reassigned. He needed Humphries in the office more than in the street. The reclaimed hours could be split between the Branch and the Academy in whatever way was most beneficial. Teaching combat at the Academy would keep Humphries in shape for emergency Reaping if necessary. He could partner with any other Reaper if required to do so.

Spears decided to petition for Humphries' promotion to Assistant Director at once instead of waiting for the required three - no, two years now. Madame Administrator might allow this as a field promotion under fire if he worded the request carefully. There was no question that they were under attack. Once Humphries had the title, Spears could have him recruit his own assistants and expand his office according to need. Eventually he would form a Group that would oversee all paperwork, interface with Admin and other Divisions, manage hiring and firing, plan and produce the yearly Budget, keep and balance the books—Spears firmly dismissed an unworthy feeling of complete utter selfish empire-building glee.

He would assign Slingby to partner with Grell. The mere announcement would give Hell pause. Innovative, unpredictable, powerful and deadly, they would give Hell twenty times the grief they would give him. Definitely worth it. When Knox returned, he could join their team to refresh his skills while being protected. Once he was back to full strength, Slingby could be given a promising Junior to train.

Director Spears sat down to draft his proposal for Humphries' promotion.

* * *

Slingby woke to find Alan's bed empty. He knew Alan was in no distress. Where..? Ah, down by Ronnie's bed. He steadied himself with his cane and walked down to join his partner.

Alan was reading aloud to Ronnie, who was awake and listening. "Ah, Ronnie, ye're back wi' us. Welcome. How are ye doin'?"

Ronnie wagged a finger. "Can't move much. Half dead of boredom. Not allowed any fun at all. Alan's been saving my life here with a fine tale of horror. Don't know where he got it, but I wanna know what happens next. Settle down on the bed there, and listen!"

Eric sat gratefully, for he was very tired for some reason. The doctors had given him and Alan dreadfully thorough examinations the previous day. There had been needles. And evil Devices. Lots of "Hmmms" and "Interestings" and "Does this hurt," which had indeed hurt like hell, thank you very much. Eric admired Alan, who had been through an awful lot of this once upon a time and still could face yet another manhandling without running for the door.

The examination had ended with "Aha!" and "Claw fragment!" and _"Gotcha, you bitch!"_ and a rush down the hall for surgery. He had a fresh new bandage over an incision mostly healed already. "What's the book called?" he asked. Maybe he should lie down.

Alan smiled and reopened the book. " _Dracula_ , by Bram Stoker. Collins loaned it to us. He said Ronnie might like a little distraction, which wouldn't do me any harm either. It's all the excitement we can handle right now."

When Alan's voice became husky, he and Eric switched places. Eric took the book and read until they were interrupted for lunch. The nurse tried to confiscate the book and was met with open revolt. All the Reapers agreed to eat and nap. She let them keep the book. The Reapers knew perfectly well that they'd been manipulated, but a deal was a deal. Alan slid the book under his pillow, stating that he would bite any hand that reached for it.

That afternoon Eric and Alan took turns reading. One would lie on the bed next to Ronnie's while the other sat in a chair between them and read aloud. There were a number of spirited discussions.

"How can he..."

"Well, he's undead."

"So are we, and it doesn't work that way."

"The author doesn't know that. He's human, not demonically affiliated, and making this up as he goes along."

Ronnie was slowly regaining motion in his arms. He gestured as passionately as he could. "Silly berk. Trainee stunt. He pops out a window and crawls down a wall like a lizard. Why? It's gonna wreck his clothes and scrape up his shoes. Not one reason he shouldn't just walk out the front door."

Alan agreed. "He's fully manifested in the Human Realm. Gravity applies. Even if he doesn't slide down and land on his nose, his coattails are going to flop over his head. He'll have to hunt for everything that falls out of his pockets." Everyone snickered.

The nurse checked up on them occasionally and smiled.

* * *

After dinner Ronnie complained that his butt ached. Alan waved to the nurse, who went for a doctor, who was quite pleased to allow Ronnie to be turned onto his side. "We’ll have you out of here the day after you wiggle your toes."

"Can’t be too soon," grumbled Ronnie.

"Aye," said Eric. "When can we go home? Alan and I can do for ourselves now."

"I want to see how well you walk tomorrow morning. After that we’ll kick you both out. Two days at home, desk work for three days, then ease back into your normal schedules. No cheating. Try not to come back soon."

"Leave the book," said Ronnie. "I can hold it now and anyway it belongs here."

* * *

"But, Sir, I am perfectly capable of Reaping— "

"Your dedication to your duty is praiseworthy," said Spears in his most repressive tone. "Your duty is forthwith redefined. Your Academy hours are unchanged. Your time in the field will now be spent in the office, training subordinates to do your work. When they are ready to work unsupervised, you will begin planning our next budget. In the field you can only protect one or two of our people. With this budget you will protect them all."

"And Eric?"

"Will continue as before, teaching his classes and Reaping. He will be partnered with Agent Sutcliff."

"Oh, dear," murmured Alan, visualizing London in flames.

"Indeed. I shall assign them to patrol several adjoining territories looking for demons. Once we have a sufficient number of experienced Reapers, we might arrange senior patrols covering all of London so that Juniors may reap unmolested.

"Now, for your aides; you will begin with two, full-time. I have selected Brock and ffoulkes1 from the team which performed your work while you were recovering. They are already familiar with the procedures. You may recruit part-timers among any trainees whose talents are more suited to Admin, or first-year Juniors who are thinking of transferring. Assign all daily and weekly documentation to them, as well as your grading of your students' classwork. In addition, you will be consulting with members of the London Garrison. Facilitate any reasonable request."

"Sir, I am not senior enough—"

"Madame Administrator says you are. Congratulations, Assistant Director. Now, I have a list of items for the budget—"

* * *

Alan managed to get home before screaming. Screaming in private is much more refined than screeching all over the office.

"AAAAAAAAA!"

Eric was on his back, on the floor, laughing his ass off. Bastard.

"Fuck you very much, Will!"

Eric caught the edge of the table and pulled himself up with one arm on the seat of the chair. "There ye go. The reward for a job well done is an even stinkier job."

"AAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Eric slid helplessly back to the floor.

"Somewhere in his budget I am going to stick a line item for...ohhhh!....I don't know but something he will hate forever! Will you get up? You are going to hurt yourself. I hope."

"Now, Alan—" Eric suppressed unbecoming guffaws—"ye knew ye would be promoted eventually."

"I never believed it! Will would have found a better candidate before then. He just wanted an agent at the Academy, trolling for trainees!"

"And didn't he get a fine one? You fulfilled his expectations in every possible way, and now—"

"AAAAA—" Wait a minute. Yes, he was screwed. But all he had to do was be silent. If he said nothing, then tomorrow Eric would have to ask Will about his new Reaping partner. Will would have to tell both Eric and Grell they were working together. Grell and Eric would be pleased—horribly, terribly, awfully pleased—and Will would suddenly realize what a disaster he had unleashed. He would have to order them to observe the rules. He would have to listen to their earnest and wholly dishonest reassurances and promises. Fine. It was a tiny revenge, but it would do for now. And later on—oh, yes, he could see it—one of the responsibilities Will would offload on him would be scheduling.

Eric, wheezing for breath, looked up at his partner and saw a cool, calculating gaze. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1In Cranford, an 1853 novel by Elizabeth Gaskell, Mr. ffoulkes is described as someone who “looked down upon capital letters and said they belonged to lately invented families.” -The Grammarphobia Blog  
> Obviously a relative.


	14. The Fifth Ravening

McCain's last words were "Junior! Port out!"

Academy-trained, Quirke obeyed. McCain-trained, she immediately appeared in the main office of the London Branch. "Demons! Reapers down! Area Three, dead center! Group attack, about thirty!" and then because she was very new and her Seniors were dying, "Please, please, hurry!"

The bullpen scrambled. Offices emptied. Spears was suddenly at her elbow. "Angels?"

"No Angels, sir!" 

"Then let us summon them. Humphries! You have the Branch!"

Thus, for the first time, Alan experienced one of the many horrors of command; that he must stay behind while others fought. He picked up the phone and alerted the Monitors, then Medical.

* * *

Thatcher heard the zips and snaps of teleportation. It gave him the strength to throw off the demons. Scythes whizzed. His attackers turned to fight the incoming Reapers. He crawled over to McCain.

Anders fought his way to them, whistled to his partner. Brandon dodged in. They each grabbed a body and ported away to the Infirmary.

The Demons were everywhere, the Reapers outnumbered. They found themselves driven back, defending their injured and themselves. Juniors were ordered to port out. Some refused their orders, standing with their seniors until they were cut down. There was a sudden roar from behind the demons; Brandon and Anders were back, and they had brought Slingby and Sutcliffe. All four tore through the demon ranks. Now attacked from both sides, the demons were temporarily confused. Some of them recognized the sound of the chainsaw and panicked, but were quickly forced back into the fight by their superiors. 

With the blast of a trumpet, Angels suddenly manifested everywhere, knocking down Reaper and Demon alike. Bright swords swept in glittering arcs; a few were blocked by scythes. 

"Whose side are you idiots on?" yelled Sutcliff. 

"Black suits are allies!" shouted Slingby. 

"Get out of the way!" commanded an Angel, and Fitzwilliam kicked his feet out from underneath him as a demon swung at his head. D'Acres killed the demon, pulled the Angel upright—"Terribly bad form, don't you know, do pay attention,"—and was gone into the fray. The Angel followed.

Demonic bodies began to pile up. The Angels adjusted to a melee where some of the participants were non-angelic allies. The tide of battle turned.

Senior Collections Agent Forbes ported back to the Office. All the Juniors who had been ordered out of battle were waiting in the bullpen. Alan had calmed and focused them. "Mr. Humphries, we need people to port in, grab the injured, get them to the Infirmary. Angels are in the fight now. We can protect the Juniors."

Humphries turned to his Juniors. "Attention!" Backs straightened. Heels clicked. Habit and discipline overcame distress. "Forbes will lead you to a point outside the fighting. Find those too injured to fight, port them to the medics. No heroics. Return as often as necessary. Banish any unattended scythes to Storage Room Two. When the fight is over and all the injured are delivered to the Infirmary, you will report back to me. Once you are accounted for, you will be free to join your Seniors. Go."

* * *

With a thunderclap the remaining demons were gone.

"Cowards!" screeched Sutcliff. 

"Damn," said Slingby. "Survivors."

Sutcliff sobered. "Oh. They'll report that the Angels actually got involved. Well, it can't be helped."

* * *

Spears presented himself to Madame Administrator. Cold rage seemed to boil off him and roll to the floor like a mist. "Five dead, Madame. A seasoned Senior team. Two second-year Juniors and one third-year Junior. Our own alarm system failed. Our people responded and were nearly overwhelmed. Six badly injured, one by an Angel who attacked him from behind. The Angels came late. They injured many of ours before they turned on the Demons. If we cannot trust our allies, if we have no faster way to increase our numbers, we must arm ourselves more effectively. Otherwise we are lost, along with all the souls we are created to preserve. I wish to register the strongest of protests to any of the Higher Ups willing to hear me. If they will not listen, I will protest to our own people and warn them that we are abandoned by those we serve."

"Sit down, Director Spears. Research has begun to explore ways to enhance the tools we are allowed to use. Pressure is being applied to the London Garrison, which is now under the command of a very able and angry officer. Appeals to the Higher Ups for help have been delivered. The alarm system will be enhanced as soon as possible. Now you and I must wait, the hardest task of all."

"Madame!"

" _Sit,_ Mr. Spears."

Spears sat. 

"The Angel of Death has been alerted. He is not pleased by the loss of his Reapers. He will visit the Garrison. Do your duty, sir, and wait. We, too, may be inspected. But this will not be ignored."

* * *

Spears called Humphries and the surviving combatants into a debriefing session. 

"Five dead," said Gupta. "Three Juniors and a senior team. Six badly injured. Most of which could have been avoided if the Angels had shown up earlier. Why didn't they?"

"Inertia and a bad alarm system," said Slingby. "I had a wee talk with one of them before he left. I had him by his pinions and threatened to have Grell clip his wings. They're out of the habit of quick response, their alarms sound only in one room in the Garrison, and the grunts don't think we have any claim on them. Most of their command structure agrees. 

"When they did arrive, they attacked us as well as the demons. Once they got straightened out on who the enemy was, they were very effective. They're heavily armed compared to us. But they were ignorant, arrogant and late. They made no effort to help the wounded, even their own, and left without making sure the area was truly clear. They announced they had won the day, paused for admiring applause, and huffed off home when they didn't get it."

"They ported in right on top of us," added Sutcliff. "They just waded in, striking at everybody they saw. They were as much the enemy as the demons were. Some of our injuries were inflicted by them. We don't need this. We need better weapons for ourselves. And a lot more people."

"They have a bad philosophy," grumbled Gupta. "The enemy of my enemy is also my enemy and so is anybody else I don't recognize. Reinforced when the people they attack defend themselves."

"On our side, we did what we could," said Brewster. "Response was immediate upon alert, which was delivered by Junior Quirke. We were outnumbered, but we held our own and were able to protect the wounded. We wouldn't have lasted much longer, though. Maybe six high-ranking demons whose troops stayed even when the fight went against them. They are getting better at it. Some of our Juniors refused orders to leave. Can't really get too upset about that, they all fought well, and we needed them. Once the Angels stopped trying to kill us, we got the injured out as quickly as possible. Forbes brought in the noncombatant Juniors to port them to Medical."

Forbes sat back. "Three Angels were among them. They woke up in our Infirmary. They snubbed the nurses and doctors who had treated them. They made it plain they were used to far better accommodations, insulted everybody and left. Medical's so angry they've sworn to bill the Garrison for upsetting their staff."

"McCain was dead on arrival. Thatcher died within the hour. They did all they could for him but he did not want to live," said Anders. There was a brief silence; long-term partners often passed together. "Bristol has claimed their bodies for burial, which is interesting since they were transferred here after offending their Director. They've also offered to employ their trainee. The Juniors will be interred at the Academy."

"McCain's Junior has been taken in by D'Acres and his wife Sarah. She will receive counseling from Medical until she is ready to resume training," said Humphries. "I'll try to match her with a team which will let her use a room in their apartment. I don't think a single billet in the dorms is good for her right now. She can make her own choice about Bristol when she's ready."

"Careful," warned Slingby. "It's not like any Branch to make a blind offer for a trainee they haven't even met. Something hinky there."

"Perfectly obvious." Spears gestured dismissively. "They're attempting to poach a top-level student, now a Junior proven in action, whose first months of training are already paid for. They'd give her Senior duties in three years and pay her at a Junior level for five. No. She will stay in London. Her Seniors will be buried here with all honors. Shall we return to the Ravening? Our alarm system didn't trigger. No glasses broke until later in the fight, when we had already alerted the Monitors. In the current situation the system is inadequate. I am campaigning for a better mechanism."

"In brief, the Angels came in as useless as tits on a mallard," Vanderveldt summed up. "They were slow to respond, slow to adapt, incomplete in execution, and did more harm than good for the first half of the fight."

"That about covers it," agreed Humphries. "But for the other half they were truly equal to the foe. We aren't. The Holy and the Fallen are the same blood, designed and armed for war. We're just modified humans carrying garden tools. In a battle with many demons, we need angelic protection for survival. We've got to keep working with them while they adjust to the new situation."

* * *

Captain Artois likewise called a meeting about the incident. He was not pleased with his subordinates.

"I ordered the alarm system reactivated throughout the garrison. Why did only one alarm sound? We will test the system in four hours, and every last one of them had better function properly. We will test until they do, and we will inspect at random intervals thereafter. If any are found disconnected there will be severe consequences. There are far worse duty posts than this one. All would be happy to receive transferred staff.

"The patrol on duty were not ready to respond, contrary to my standing orders as of last week. You will drill them until they can perform their duty without delay, confusion or stopping to fish their sandals out from under the bed. Why were they not wearing battledress? Get everybody into boots and trousers. I am going to start unannounced inspections, and I had better like what I find.

"The patrol on duty arrived on top of the conflict, not around it. They did not pause to evaluate the situation properly. They attacked indiscriminately in spite of knowing there were allies on the field. They injured some of those allies and were injured when those allies defended themselves. Do not talk to me about redheads with chainsaws. You got what you deserved. I may send her my personal thanks.

"The Reapers are auxiliaries of the same Army you serve. You will respect them as brothers-in-arms. They are few in number and underequipped. Your duty is to protect them while they fulfill their purpose.

"These allies lost five dead and six wounded. Seven of those casualties occurred after we arrived, even though we outnumbered the demons present. We made the situation worse. That, sirs, is an inexcusable failure on our part. 

"Three of our soldiers were injured by the demons badly enough that they were taken to the Reapers' hospital. They received prompt treatment and behaved so badly that we have received a written complaint from their Medical Director. Those three are going to apologize, in person, to the hospital staff. They will do it to my satisfaction because I will be present and I will make them keep doing it until they get it right. They will then be dismissed from our service. You are going to see that nothing like that ever happens again.

"Today I have a meeting with two Reapers. Both of them were victims of a previous Ravening. One has scars over half his face. The other was present at yesterday's engagement. They are courteous, helpful and are making an effort to improve our chances in battle. You will be equally well-behaved to them, and so will all your people, or this Garrison will be known principally for the severity of its discipline, the cleanliness of its latrines and the paucity of its promotions for the rest of eternity. Do you understand me?

"All leave is now cancelled. We are returning to a wartime footing, which we should never have left."

* * *

Captain Artois, Color-Sergeant Bourne, Senior Collections Agent Slingby and Assistant Director Humphries studied the large map on the table.

"These are our current territories, Captain. Can we compare them to your patrol areas?"

"We simply divide the city into quadrants. Obviously this will need to be rethought. Smaller patrols in smaller areas, for better cooperation between our teams."

"We can, of course, redraw our lines to help you with yours, consistent with our limitations," said Humphries. "If an area is too populous for a single team to manage, we have to split it or add people. We're spread pretty thin at the moment due to injuries. We'll be increasing our numbers in the coming years, but it takes time to train them properly. Where possible we try to place teams with green trainees between areas covered by veterans or teams with seasoned Juniors." He rolled up the map and gave it to the Color-Sergeant.

"Something to consider," offered Slingby. "Should the territories coincide or be offset? The second option will require the teams to work with more of their allies. The first makes it less likely to be called to two emergencies at once."

"There will be some prejudices to overcome," said the Captain. "I've asked for more troops, old soldiers if possible. They tend to accept allied fighters more quickly."

"Ours will cooperate. Mostly we're happy for any help we can get." Humphries flushed. His facial scars were suddenly very visible. "Will you be sending any of them to sit with the Monitors? We've made some upgrades to the system and would welcome your opinion and suggestions."

"Yes, as soon as our own alarm system has been expanded, I'll send the keenest ones along; another week should do it."

"Ours are being moved into a larger room. Will it be uncomfortable for your people to sit with ours? We can increase circulation in that room."

"I don't see why."

Slingby stepped in. "Demons and Reapers smell bad to each other. Sometimes it's the first sign we have of incursion. If we also smell bad to you, we'll do what we can to minimize it."

The Captain paused briefly. "No, this room has no odor but coffee."

* * *

That night, Eric stood Alan before the bathroom mirror. Looking over Alan's shoulder at their reflections, he said, "There; what do you see?" 

"Two underslept, overworked men who have to teach in the morning. One of them is tall and good-looking. What do you see?"

"Watch the mirror, Alan." Eric wrapped his arms around his partner. "I see the love of my life, the joy of my days, my Light through the darkness."

Alan blushed. Ropy white scars seemed to spring out of nowhere. "Oh."

Eric kissed the top of Alan's head. "Ye need to know, my Light, that until those scars fade away you must control your blushes. They make you look dangerous. I think you startled Artois. He probably thinks you are angry about the Ravening, not embarrassed that we might smell bad to Angels. Your new job requires diplomacy. What is diplomacy but the delicate delivery of lies from a smooth harmless face? Without the scars, your blushes merely look innocent and earnest. See the Doctor about getting healed more quickly. Warn Will not to put you in situations where your anger or embarrassment could give you both away."

"Disinformation," said Alan. "We can also use this to spread falsehoods. Spears will know how to use it."

"Nice try. See the doctor."

"Um, actually he gave me a pot of goop to use twice daily but..."

"You left it in the kitchen. I nearly spread it on a sandwich. Here. Let me...there. Even smells nice. Tomorrow between classes and the office we will go see the doctor."


	15. The first step to revenge

Alan taught his Ethics lesson to an unusually subdued class. Among the students, his reputation as a fighter was second only to Slingby's. His scars reminded them that skill and training and experience were sometimes not enough. They all knew that Reapers died in the performance of their duties. Until today, the knowledge had been theoretical.

Today they had seen three Junior Reapers buried in the Academy cemetery. Two had been students when the members of this class were first awakened here. Many had known them. How many students would Alan lose in the coming years? Tomorrow he would lay aster1 and peony2 on the graves of two Seniors who had defended him from Research, years ago. Thatcher and McCain, especially McCain, had done more to expose Research than Alan ever had. Alan had kept that secret while they lived for their safety's sake.

He had taken some small comfort in Will's reaction to the Ravening. Will's white-hot anger had not been directed at his Reapers, but at those who had failed his Reapers. Alan had immediately reviewed Will's disposition of the six severely wounded and found nothing to challenge. Nor had Will interfered with Alan's provisions for the bereaved Seniors who had lost Juniors, nor argued about his temporary arrangements for the devastated Junior Quirke. Perhaps Will had even admired the courage of one who waited until after the battle to decompensate. She had aided in the transport of wounded and remained at the Infirmary to help with triage. In return the doctors had allowed her a farewell to her Seniors. Alan was not entirely sure that had been as kind in effect as it was in intention.

The subject of this lecture was the scythes they would earn if they passed their final examinations. After the initial instructions on selecting the scythe, practicing with it until it was an extension of the body, and the importance of Rule Two—always clean, always sharp, always ready—Humphries went on to the darker rules.

"Never use your scythe on a Mortal who has not yet died. If you harvest the soul while the body still lives, it will go on your record automatically. The moment of death is divinely appointed. It is not ours to decide. Penalties are severe.

"If you turn your scythe on yourself, you will go straight to Hell. If you turn your scythe on another Reaper in anger, you will suffer a public execution before going straight to Hell. This life is your only chance not to go straight to Hell. Here, your only purpose is to Reap and your only enemy is the Demonic Realm. Do not quarrel with your co-workers. You are not required to like them. You are required to work with them as professionals. Arguments will be assigned a Higher mediator, whose decision is final and will reflect his opinion that you are both a damn nuisance. Habitual belligerents, bullies, and duelists will be culled. We are too few to tolerate any behavior that weakens us further. As far as your Managers are concerned, the one who drops the argument and goes back to work wins.

"Never touch a scythe while under the influence of alcohol.

"Do not import the drugs available in the Mortal Realm. Most of you already know they'll have no effect except to make you miserably sick. Drugs prescribed by Medical will be reported to your superiors at once, so they can change your schedules to deskwork. If they have to order you into the streets anyway, allow for side effects such as dizziness or sleepiness. Until the medicine wears off, do not use your scythe to teleport; let your partner take you anywhere you need to go. You do not want to reappear fifty miles out over the sea. If you do become lost, find a safe place to stay until your glasses can be tracked and someone sent to retrieve you. If your glasses are lost, sit tight for at least twelve hours to let the medicine completely leave your system. Then port to the area you know best and work back from there.

"If your scythe is in danger of being seized by a demon, banish it if you cannot port away. Once you are in a better defensive position, recall it to your hand. Practice daily. In the field, if you see a lost or abandoned scythe, banish it. A scythe must never be claimed by demons. Be ready to die rather than see your scythe turned against your fellow Reapers or humans."

"Half of you will never Reap. Your talents will best be used in the other Divisions. A percentage of you will Reap as Trainees and decide that you wish to transfer to other specialties. There is no shame in that; all are necessary to the whole. But you must never forget that in a great catastrophe every resident of this Realm can be called to Reap. It has happened before. It will happen again. Do not allow yourselves to become lazy. Drill with your scythes, even if they are only student scythes, for someday your lives will depend on them. At that point, all who would usually protect you may be gone."

From Ethics, Alan went to his locker, kicked it twice, changed into drill clothing and walked out on the training field. Eric saw and shared his sorrow, and offered him the opportunity to spar with a much larger student who needed a setdown. Alan accepted this gesture of love with gratitude. Just the thing, really. He bowed his respect to the field and to the cocky upperclassman. The bow he got in return was just slightly short of contemptuous. Alan let a quick surge of anger redden his face. His opponent saw the scars and blanched. Alan tamped down his feelings and proceeded to deliver a quick but generous measure of humiliation. Amazing how a job well done could cheer a person.

* * *

Eric and Alan went from the Academy to the Infirmary, where Alan was given one large and one small pot of stronger goop and a stern lecture about actually using it. "Three times a day, Senior, and return here when it's almost gone. Refill the little pot from the big one and keep it with you for the midday application. No cheating. Surgical intervention would be unpleasant."

They made their way to Ward Three where Ronald Knox was waiting to be released.

"Are ye ready to go home, Ronnie? We've clothes for ye."

"Please get me out of here, Senpai! They're gonna feed me boiled cardboard again!" Ronnie was still a little unsteady. With one hand on a cane and the other on Alan's shoulder, he was able to walk safely.

"We usually get lunch in the Human Realm after class. Fish and chips sound good? Chinese, Indian, pub sandwiches?"

"Alan, I will worship you forever. Anything, anything but boiled cardboard."

They settled on a place with comfortable seating and a large menu for Ronnie's perusal. "Ye'll be on desk duty for a couple of days," Eric said, "but after that ye'll be running protection patrols with Grell and meself. We're hunting demons. If we find any, ye'll bring in help while we kill. You know we're short-handed again. Everybody's doing overtime to cover the Death List while fielding these extra patrols."

"Pleased to help. Sounds like great fun. I've some revenge of my own to take. You two look okay. How's Grell? I heard she biffed a couple of Angels during the last Ravening. "

"She is the Terror of the Garrison. An Angel ported in right on top of her, sword raised. She nearly took his head off. He moved his sword in time to block her, but she kneed him and went for the one behind him—she slashed him top to bottom, cutting his swordbelt, and his robe fell open—"

"Robe?" said Alan, intrigued. "They were dressed in ceremonials?"

"Aye. They'd been sitting about in comfy robes and sandals, being angelic, on duty or no. Anyway, Angel Number Two was more upset by the exposure than the wound. Not that he had much to hide, as Grell pointed out at the top of her lungs. His nickname will be 'Acorn Dick' forever...Alan, ye're blushing again. Ye'll scare off the waiter...

"Then she rounded on a third, and he ran away, right into a demon who was running away from Vanderveldt. Van killed the demon and said something to the Angel which sounded pretty horrendous. Afrikaans is like Dutch, only with more spitting, as far as I can tell; granted, Van was furious. He's protective of younger Juniors, and the Angels harmed some of them. There was one Angel who seemed to think himself in charge. He tried walking over D'Acres while never noticing a demon coming at him from the rear. Fitzwilliam decked him as part of killing the demon, and Roland gave him an aristocratic setdown in High Posh. After that the Angels decided that the demons were softer targets. I'd been smacking any of them who were attacking the rest of us. Once they got straightened around they were easily the match of the demons. That allowed us to get the wounded and dead off the field." Eric sighed. "Three Juniors dead. Two of them after the Angels arrived. What grand allies we have. I wonder if I could steal one of their swords."

"Well, they'll wear boots next time, for sure," said Ronnie. "Our folks on the ward said they must have forgotten how much squidgy stuff horses leave on the streets of London. Sandals are no protection. I'll bet the robes are harder to clean than combat gear, and the flowing hems will catch on everything."

"What grand allies we have, indeed," said Alan.

* * *

They took Ronnie to his room in the Senior dorms and tucked him in. The fact that he let them was telling. He was asleep almost immediately. Alan arranged a well-being check in eight hours with a resident of a nearby room.

After Eric left for the office, Alan ported to the new Research station near Trafalgar Square. It rested on a roof, but existed inside the Reaper Realm to keep it hidden from the Humans. It consisted of one long, low room, except for the north end which extended into the Divine Realm to make access easier to the Angels. There the ceiling was high and the windows large. Standard Divine architecture. Light, airy, inspiring, perfect for Heaven but less so for London. It was impossible to heat. All the Angels had set up their workstations in the Reaper area. The Angels eyed him with suspicion and moved to conceal their work—academics, the same everywhere—but Cole and Franklin greeted him as the dispenser of wonderful new challenges.

"Mr. Humphries, we have a theory!"

"And a prototype ready to gather data. We just need a Reaper to carry it—its range isn't that good yet—but it's not too heavy."

"See, Junior Roberts reported a shimmer when a demon ported in. But the arrival of Reapers and Angels doesn't have that, so we have a measurable difference between the methods."

"We've got a device to record vibration. If we can collect a sample of a demon porting in, we can work on more sensitive devices tuned to that frequency. From that we can develop alarms and detectors."

"That's wonderful," said Alan. "Please show me the recorder. How close does it need to be?"

Franklin produced a black canvas backpack. "About three city blocks, possibly four. We know how shorthanded you are, but if you put it on a Junior, all he has to do is port here and drop it off once he's seen a demon. We'll see if anything registered—if the demon's been hanging around for a while, nothing will show, of course, and we'll send him back out."

"We know you don't see them too often, but if you have areas that demons tend to frequent, could you give this to a team that works nearby?"

Alan hefted the backpack. Not too heavy, just awkward. "Any special instructions for the wearer?"

Cole took the backpack and opened the top flap. He turned the bag toward Alan and pointed to a green button on the device within. "Press that to activate. This light tells you it's working. After about six hours it will begin to dim. It will still record until the light dies, but the range will decrease sharply. Ideally at six hours you bring it back for recharging and pick it up the next day. Try not to bang it on anything too hard."

Alan gave them a huge smile. "You two are amazing. Thank you! I have just the person to carry this, and just the team to escort it. Who else knows about this recorder?"

"Just us. The Angels here are working hard on their own alarm system. They won't be interested in ours for a while yet."

"That's good, actually. For our team's safety and yours, please don't talk about this to anyone. if anybody comes asking questions, let me know right away."

* * *

The young woman in black tapped on Alan's doorframe. Alan invited her in. She sat in the offered chair, pale, dignified, sad.

"Agent Quirke, please accept my condolences for the loss of your Seniors. They were exemplary Reapers and are missed by all who knew them. I myself owed them a debt which I was never able to repay. Now I hope to repay it to you."

Alan placed his hand on a black backpack. "This, Agent Quirke, is the first step to revenge."

* * *

Eric, Grell and Ronald stood shivering in the morning mist as Alan laid flowers on two graves. "Rest well, my friends. To our shame, we could not save you. But I will do my best to see that your Junior will prosper and avenge you."

Alan stood and turned to his friends. "All right. Now I am going to give you orders you won't like, and you are going to interrupt to scream and shout. Let's get that part over with so I can explain why this is necessary.

"Eric, Grell, I am giving you a first-year Junior who will accompany you on your patrols...are you done yelling now? Good. This will be Junior Quirke, the trainee of the partners we have just honored. She will be with you for six hours each day. She will be wearing a backpack containing a device produced by the London Research scientists. It should not be knocked against anything...are you quite done? After six hours she will return the device to the Research Center for maintenance.

"She is strictly a noncombatant unless she has to defend herself, which you are not to allow to happen. She's perfectly capable, but the point is to keep the backpack safe...shush and I'll tell you.

"The backpack contains a device which we hope will record the mechanics of a demon opening a portal. If we can capture that, we may find a way to build detectors and alarms. If you encounter a demon which is hunting alone, don't kill it. I want you to injure it enough that it ports home. If you encounter a group, her orders are to port to the Research Center at once. She'll be out of your way, she'll summon help for you, and Research will have the device safely in hand.

"Junior Quirke deserves an opportunity to help prevent future Ravenings. You will not discuss this with anyone. You may now resume shouting, if it makes you feel any better."

Eric gave him a flat look. "What aren't ye telling us?"

"Not much. Nobody else should be aware of this. Therefore if you lot hear anything at all about this, from anybody, tell me. I will know where it had to come from. Maybe we can plug a leak."

"Y're gettin' sneaky in y'r old age, Alan," observed Knox.

"Thank you," said Alan. "Will's a good teacher. You'll be joining this party as soon as you're approved by Medical. At that point you become responsible for raising the alarm if you find a Ravening. Junior Quirke becomes responsible only for the device she carries."

Alan turned to Eric and Grell. "We need a recording of a demon coming in, a demon going out, and if possible a group or a Ravening arriving and leaving. The device's recording range is about three to four blocks. Junior Quirke is waiting for you at the office. Good luck. Be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1紫苑; Remembrance  
> 2牡丹; Bravery  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanakotoba


	16. The bait team forms; the audit continues

Grell, Eric and Iris Quirke examined the map of London's current territories. "Areas over here see demons more often. Area Five, Forbes and Brewster. Area Six, Fancher, Burns, and Sorenson who's in his third year. Area Seven," Grell consulted the Schedule, "D'Acres and Fitzwilliam. Second shift won't take over until after the backpack needs servicing. Suppose we patrol these areas for the first six hours, then cut over to, um, Fourteen and Fifteen?" 

Eric moved a finger over the map. "Brandon and Anders are still a little jumpy, and they've a first-year Junior, so they'll be glad to know we're around. Who's Fifteen? It'll be a competent team with no greenies."

"Um, Cartwright and Cortland. A Senior and his fifth-year Junior, nearly ready for promotion. Rude, crude and capable. They are continuing from third shift, though, so maybe not as alert as when they are rested. Yes, we should work that area and maybe be a little noisy about it? So the demons stay away from them for a day. Eric, do you think if we picked an area and let it seem unwatched for a day or two, that we could attract demons there? Iris, if you and Eric sort of sat quietly in one Area while I created a disturbance elsewhere, perhaps we might get an incursion close enough to you to register on your gadget. Wait, no, we are doing this wrong. Let's start with Fourteen and Fifteen, which are most vulnerable. If we get a hit, we can maybe assume that...oh, dear..."

Eric closed his eyes for a moment. "Anders and Brandon. Thatcher and McCain. Vanderveldt and Gupta. That foiled attack near the Phantomhive townhouse. All teams with green trainees. The only Ravening not aimed at teams with greenies to protect was the one aimed at us. And I don't think they expected the four of us together; they only expected two, and would have succeeded if we hadn't met up that night. They've been watching and recording our schedules, aye, and sharing them around."

"So maybe they've got imps posted in all areas, to observe who's on duty each shift, and planning accordingly."

"Maybe," said Junior Quirke, "maybe they will think we are just a team with a greenie."

"Yes," said Grell thoughtfully. "A team recently out of hospital, with a greenie. And, starting tomorrow, that same team with a greenie and also Ronnie, newly convalescent. Would we be tempting? After we kicked their butts? Especially if we look a little slow today, like maybe we were hurt again in the last fight. What say you, Eric? Shall we trail a wing and see who pounces?"

"Aye. Quirke, you are a smart woman. Listen. If we draw out a single demon, or even two, you drop back a bit and watch the fight. Here's the thing, Grell. We want to catch one. I want to ask some questions once it's too terrified to lie. Then we let it get away. Quirke gets recordings of it coming and going, and we get some answers which may or may not be useful. If more than two demons pop in, Quirke, you get back to the Research lab immediately. The device is more important than we are." 

"Yes, Senior," said Quirke quietly. "It is more important than all of us."

Grell looked at her sharply. "Sweetie, we have to talk. I'm off at six. Meet me in my office then. We'll go have dinner somewhere."

"Yes, Senior," said Quirke.

* * *

"But you _must_ understand," pleaded Project Manager Whitehead. "We need better weapons _now_. Groveling for extra funding is time-consuming and seldom successful. We need development and testing and our budget is insufficient to those needs. Our Higher Ups have no _vision!_ The next budgetary period is too far off. The Academy has more than it needs to grind out Reapers—especially since they are going to get assigned to mentors anyway; let them learn on the streets! It should be concentrating its funds into training those with scientific talents, not the dull Administration drones or the muscle-bound and muscle-headed athletes who are going to go out and get killed! If we can produce proper weapons, real weapons, maybe they'll live longer!"

Senior Administrator Grade Four (Auditing) Sarah Goodfellow did not consider herself a dull drone. Neither did she consider her husband, Senior Collections Agent Grade Four (London Dispatch) Roland D'Acres either stupid or expendable. Somehow she managed to convey all this with the raising of a single eyebrow. Project Manager Whitehead gulped and gobbled an apology. She let him finish, paused to let him internalize her disbelief of his sincerity, then said, "I assume, of course, that your new designs are for the scythes and small hand tools preapproved for our use? Nothing forbidden the Harvesters of Souls by the Highest?" 

Project Manager Whitehead descended into a torrent of weasel words. Auditor Goodfellow stopped him. She signaled to one of her guards at the door. "Your designs, Mr. Whitehead, at once. Tell Mister Grossman where to find them, and who may be holding copies. Mister Grossman, if you run into any obstruction or resistance, arrest everyone involved and have their offices, laboratories and apartments searched roof to ground. Be sure to tell them the penalties for hiding anything from an Internal Audit." 

"Madame!" gasped Project Manager Whitehead. "You cannot!"

"I most certainly can. Who did you suborn in the Academy, and with what did you bribe them? We are asking questions there already. Some of their managers are being very forthcoming. This is your chance to present your side of the story. I would suggest that you take the opportunity to be earnestly helpful. Who else did you press for money or aid? They will not remain silent in the face of an Audit, you know. Did you sell information? Promise illegal weapons or substances? Negotiate with entities outside our Realm? Tell us, or sit forever in solitary confinement while all your projects, studies, grants and recognition are given to others." 

" _Humphries!_ This is all Humphries' doing, isn't it! He escaped us and has plotted against us ever since! We should have ambushed him and captured him years ago, locked him in the deepest labs, reduced him to samples and cultures, produced a contagious form of his curse!" Project Manager Whitehead's voice rose to a shriek. _"I told them! I told them!"_

"Really, sir? Told whom? What deepest labs? How very interesting. I would love to hear all about your research."

And, of course, he told her.

* * *

Once again Roland D'Acres visited Assistant Director Humphries' office. Once again, they closed the door and sat. They asked after each other's partners. They agreed that their conversation was _sub rosa_.

"A message from my lovely Sarah, Alan." D'Acres laid a fat envelope on Alan's desk. "Read and destroy, please. She's made a full report of all her discoveries, but it will go to a higher level and there are things she wants you to know now."

"My thanks to her for anything she can tell me. I will keep it all secret, of course."

"She thinks there may be some actions you'll need to be prepared to take. I, of course, am not here, and all this is information you might have deduced from other sources."

"Of course. Please continue."

"There are Researchers who really hate you, you know that? Sarah's investigation landed a number of them in confinement. Believe it or not, they set up a dungeon-like laboratory years ago just to disassemble you. They planned to kidnap you and weaponize your Thorns. Utterly mad. When you and Slingby were reanimated, they gave it up as the Thorns were gone and because you were too well guarded. The lab was recently expanded and repurposed for the development of weapons—forbidden weapons, not scythes. The Researchers were working on firearms. Handguns and rifles with magazines for rapid sustained fire, ammunition of scythe metal. It's a long cavelike tunnel. The far end wanders off somewhere. They'll investigate that when there's time. 

"My word, Alan, are you all right? Your face..."

Alan was thinking of the London Research Center, long and low and extending into another Realm. 

"Roland, that lab is terribly dangerous. Sarah needs to get Captain Artois and his Angels down there. I can't do it without exposing you both. The shadowed end leads into the Demonic Realm. It needs to be sealed off. The whole lab should be destroyed so demons can't access it. It may take an Archangel to do it properly. If Sarah doesn't know this already, she and her people could be in immediate peril. Hurry!"

But D'Acres was already out the door.


	17. Do you think I could learn to use a chainsaw?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grell, the Academy, Area Fourteen

Junior Quirke appeared at Grell's desk at six o'clock sharp. Grell's feet were on her desk, her necktie hanging off her lamp, her eyes narrowed.

"So, Quirke, do your minders know where you are?"

"I told Senior D'Acres that I was to have dinner with you at your request, Senior."

"Fine. They're good people, I wouldn't want to worry them. They'd scold me. Now, Junior, please summon your scythe...oh, my. What is that?"

"Norfolk billhook, Ma'am."

"Are you sparring regularly?"

"I sparred with my Seniors daily, Ma'am. No one since they died."

"All right. So. Who uses a similar scythe? Ah. Gupta and his _aruval._ I will ask him if you can join his sparring sessions with Junior Roberts. In time you may find that you prefer something with a little more reach. He can help there."

"This is good enough for me, Ma'am."

"For now. You may outgrow it if you hang around Slingby and me for long. After you've worked with Gupta for a bit and learned some skills, we'll see if we can add Alan to your schedule. He's your size but he uses a longer scythe. Different style, handle and edge, two-handed mostly. Like Chandra, he's quick and sneaky. Go with Eric some morning when he's sparring with Alan. Watch how Alan deals with a much larger opponent. When you have mastered the basics, you can move up to bigger fellows and eventually to a scythe that will do some real damage." Grell swung her feet to the floor and stood, stretching. "Well. Dinner. There are a number of little eateries around here, or the Cafeteria if you prefer. My treat. What would you like?"

"Whatever seems good to you, Ma'am."

Grell took one swift stride and caught her chin. "Listen to me, Reaper. Wake up! If you were this passive normally, Alan would never have brought you to London. Do not disappoint him! Do not shame him for his choice! Do not wallow in your grief!

"Your purpose is not to avenge your Seniors and die! Your purpose is to avenge your Seniors and live to make demons die. I know what you are going through, and I tell you this; the pain does not end, but it does fade; you will stand straight and flourish and Reap as you have been created to do. Your name will be respected in our Realm and feared in the Demonic. Your Trainees will prosper and follow you into battle. They too will kill demons, and teach others to kill demons, that your revenge may be continued and increased. Your Seniors will be remembered and revered. Endure today. Work to create such a tomorrow."

Iris Quirke raised her head. For the first time light showed in her eyes. "Ma'am? Do you think I could learn to use a chainsaw?"

"How badly do you want to, greenie? Because if you want to badly enough, I will see that you succeed. Begin by making a choice. What do you want for dinner?"

"Curry at Patel's, Senior! And ice cream!"

"All right. We will get just slightly drunk. We will toast your Seniors and plan your training and maybe get a manicure. Tomorrow we hunt demons. Perfectly groomed as a lady should be."

* * *

The underground laboratory was brightly lit. It appeared to have been in active use until very recently. Its staff had left in a great hurry. Captain Artois disliked the low ceiling. The far end of the long room made him itch. It faded into shifting shadows and things almost seen. He did not like turning his back on it. The patrol with him felt the same wariness. The Entity with them was thoughtful.

"Captain, this is indeed a Hellmouth. It must be sealed. Ideally the tunnel should be collapsed, but that would endanger the structures above it. Filled, then, and perhaps we should leave a few surprises on both sides of a seal at the far end. I shall call in some engineers. Six serious ones and one comedian for the boobytraps. We will need to be housed in your Garrison. You will arrange accommodations for eight. Take your men to the Laboratory entrance and deny access to any but my staff. We should warn the Academicians that there may be some tremors and rumblings soon."

They all ascended to ground level. The outside breeze seemed particularly sweet. A group of freshly showered students was walking in from the gymnasium by the training fields. As they passed, one stopped to bow deeply to the Entity. "Hail, Azrael." 

"Well met, Reaper." 

Captain Artois looked more closely at the student. No, not a student; an instructor. "Mr. Humphries. I was not aware you taught here." 

"Yes, Captain, part time. Ethics and combat. Or as my students have it, Living Clean and Fighting Dirty. It keeps me in shape and thinking. Compensates for my desk duty. Budget planning." 

"A terrible fate. Like Sisyphus, we repeat it over and over."

Alan excused himself and continued on, having learned all he needed to know. The Angel of Death was not displeased with his Reapers. The Angel of Death's attention had been drawn to the Garrison. The subterranean laboratory would be closed with extreme prejudice. Artois was affable and his soldiers inspection-perfect, so there had been no battle here, no injuries to his Angels. He was not surrounded by distressed academics, so there were no injuries to anyone else. There would be further information available in the staff lounge. He made a mental note to increase his budgetary requests by ten percent across the board. Twenty percent on defense and training items. The Higher Ups would approve them.

_I'm beginning to think like Will._

* * *

After his shift, Eric went to Alan's office. There he was, the poor fellow, buried in stacks of paper, as fair a Reaper in distress as one could hope to rescue. His aides had already gone home. Alan looked up and gave him the smile that he reserved for Eric alone. Eric cleared a chair, sat down with a sigh of relief, and smiled back.

"Grell and Iris have gone off giggling somewhere. Good to see the kid come back to life a little, even if it means they gang up on me. Today they looked at me and each other and said, "Men!" I think I ruined their whole day by knowing when to shut up. About ready to come home?"

"Yes. Brain and body both on strike. Any luck today?"

"We may have picked up a departure, but it was at the edge of the device's limits. Research will tell us if there's anything useful there. Listen, my Light, has Will thought to dump scheduling on you yet? I have a request."

"He hasn't, and probably won't until the budget is finished. But I can block in a change and clear it with him. What do you need?"

"We, the four of us, want to work Area Fourteen for a while. Anders and Brandon are working it now, with their shiny new Junior. That's where we picked up a trace today. It might have been reconnaissance for a planned hit. We want to take over Reaping there. We're going to give the impression of invalids grouped together for protection. Two who might have nagging old injuries, a scared greenie, and a convalescent fresh out of the Infirmary. In short, a tempting target. Red's going to wear flat shoes and leave her chainsaw banished as though it might be a little heavy. Iris' device might pass for a back injury. I'm going to button up and limp a little. We'll see who we can suck in."

"Let's see. If I put Jacobs and Fairbairn on your sweep duties, and their Junior on desk duty catching up on their paperwork, I can move Anders, Brandon and Terry to first shift in Area Eight. Area Eight's stable and not too populous. A nice rest for them. And Fourteen is high-population but a small area, so an appearance there is more likely to be registered on the device. Um. They're all in the office now, finishing up. Go ask them, and if they are willing to switch, I'll catch Will and have him approve it. While I do that, all of you can swap handover reports."

Director Spears listened carefully to the proposed changes. Upon assuring himself that the rearrangement was neither unfair nor frivolous, he granted his permission. "Interesting. Slingby's assuming that we are spied upon and that weaker teams are targeted?"

"All but one of the Ravenings went after teams who were protecting inexperienced greenies, yes, sir. Takes them down to maybe seventy-five percent effectiveness if one defends the Junior and himself, and the other concentrates on attack. Fifty percent if both have to defend the Junior."

"Interesting theory. Do ask Jacobs and Fairbairn to keep an eye on them."

Alan returned to his office, which was quite crowded. "Everything's approved, effective now, until further notice. Will asks that the sweep team check on the bait team occasionally." 

"A blessing," said Jacobs. "I'm badly behind in my paperwork. Now I can order poor Harmon to do it without feeling guilty." 

"Mine too, and the expense reports," added Fairbairn. 

Harmon donned an expression of long-suffering misery. "You two are bored, is all, dragging a slow learner through a quiet territory. Go have fun sitting out on rooftops in the rain while I sadly scribble in a nice dry office with hot tea anytime I want it. Woe is me."

"Brat," said Fairbairn. Jacobs nodded. "Brat. End-Of-Quarter reports too."

Harmon grinned.

* * *

Alan nearly fell asleep on his dinner plate. Eric got him fed, washed, and into pajamas. At which point he woke up somewhat. "Got some things you need to know."

Eric sat him down on the bed. He opened the pot of medicated cream and began rubbing a generous dollop of it on Alan's face. "Tell me all. Exciting day?"

"A little. The Archangel Azrael was at the Academy today with Captain Artois and a squad of his soldiers. There's a Hellmouth under the school."

Very slowly Eric sealed the jar and set it aside. "Since ye're here in one piece I assume they are dealing with it?"

"Yes. Nobody hurt. Research built a lab in a tunnel under the dorms. They were developing advanced weapons of the sorts we'll never be allowed to use. They were going to sell them to Hell for funds to plow back into their research. The tunnel ends in a transfer portal."

"Why would they ever expect a bargain with Hell to end well?" Hell would have passed the weapons to a single aggressor in the coming war and revelled in the carnage. They would have used them against Reapers, too. Eric felt slightly ill.

"Beats me. Intelligent is not the same as smart. Crazy cancels both. Anyway, experts have the problem in hand. I saluted Azrael this morning, and he did not squash me like a bug, so he's not angry with us. He's working with the Garrison. They will have no secrets from him. I predict an attitude adjustment, possibly with a socket wrench, at all levels. He can squash them like bugs too." Alan got under the covers and stretched out with a sigh.

"So maybe we can expect a little more backup next Ravening?" Eric went around to his side of the bed, switched off the lamp and climbed in. His weight tilted the mattress so that Alan rolled into his arms. 

"Maybe. Hope so. I hate that my duty station is not beside you. Be careful, please." 

"I miss you too. But we need ye more where you are. Please do not put yourself in more situations where you could get squashed like a bug." There was a sigh from down below his chin. "What's wrong, Alan?"

"The lab, Eric. They built it when I was cursed. They meant to weaponize the Thorns. Just as an experiment. To make it contagious. They told themselves it would be a first step to making it curable. It could have gotten loose in the dorms. Hell could have seized it and wiped us out. All because I couldn't control the Cinematic Record of a mass murderer."

"No. All because they were crazy. Not your fault, my Light. Do not ever think that any of this is your fault, any more than the murder of Cock Robin or the Gunpowder Plot. Rest easy, _mo sholas_. Rest easy.”


	18. The Sixth Ravening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting up a sting. The lovestruck Junior Brock. An attack on Area Fourteen.

The next morning the Bait Team picked up the To-Die List for Area Fourteen. They found a bistro serving breakfast and studied the List and a map.

"We're s'posed to be stiff and sore and slow. S'pose we hang out here between Reaps, like an overtired Team operating on caffeine and determination, and sort of limp around doing the Collections, and come back here to sit and rest in between them. I'm easily tired myself, so just slow down to my speed."

"That's good, Ronnie. If we can lure in a Ravening, they'll probably manifest in the street out front. Alleys and side roads are too narrow for a big group here. Iris can port directly out to the London Lab, ye can port to the office for reinforcements, and Grell and I can make them regret their intrusion. Reinforcements can port into the street on either side. We have the building to our backs. It's as good as we're likely to get. Remember, everyone, stiff and sore and slow."  
  


* * *

  
Alan went early to his office, settled his assistants to work, and made a call to the Garrison. As Captain Artois was not available, and the aide on the phone seemed disinterested in taking messages from a Reaper, he asked for Color-Sergeant Bourne. Fortunately Bourne was willing to talk to someone who was not an Angel.

"Color-Sergeant, this is Assistant Director Humphries of the London Dispatch. You may not remember me, but I gave you the map of our duty areas...Yes. Do you still have it? Oh, good. Open it, please. Look up Area Fourteen. We have stationed a bait team there...four people looking vulnerable. They are going to be there every day, first shift, in hopes of attracting demons...two are true noncombatants. The other two are faking. Yes, you've met one, Eric Slingby, same map meeting, and while we were in hospital. He's fully recovered, actually. The other...yes, indeed, the Redhead With The Chainsaw...and her reputation is fully deserved, sir, but they are only two people.

"Can you ask your patrols to keep an eye on that area, and let them know that they will be needed quickly if Hell takes the bait? You'll be notified by the London Research Laboratory and by myself if a Ravening appears. We won't bother you if only a couple of demons show up. In that case we hope to kill one and force the other to port out, as has been requested by the London Lab. They are running an experiment. But if ten or twenty demons arrive together, we will need boots on the ground at once. We, of course, will arrive in force, but there are not that many of us and we are not armed for war.

"What number should I call for help? Do you have a line where a message can be reliably taken and acted upon, if you are not available? Or does the Captain?" That should get somebody in trouble. Alan did not want his partner harmed because some featherwit dismissed their calls as unimportant.

His second call was to the London Research Lab. Franklin was on duty and appeared to have had his morning cuppa. Alan told him about the bait team.

"You'll not be expecting Junior Quirke to fight, will you, sir? Because the recorder might break if she got into a scrap."

"No, her orders are unchanged. Did you get anything off the device yesterday?"

"Only a whisper, not enough to help, but its functionality is proven. We are working on extending its range. We'll give her a new model tomorrow. It's a little smaller, too."

"Good. If she ports in looking for help, get the Angels in the lab to call home at once. Warn them about this. Make sure they have a way to raise the alarm quickly. If anything happens to her team she'll be needed to Reap. One of you will have to carry the device."

That should make them very eager to send help at once; like many who went into support services, neither Cole nor Franklin were worth a bean in a fight. They probably had not picked up a scythe since their final exams. Both had graduated thanks to him. He had contrived to pair them with partners who were capable in the field, and carefully swept their Reap's surroundings for demons before the kids were allowed off campus. They had returned determined never to Reap again.

Which was good. They were hugely valuable and very happy in their current assignment. Good researchers, very good.

"Franklin, could you please ask around if any of your colleagues have worked with Spectacles? Could your detector be tagged the same way our glasses are, for ease of retrieval in case the carrier was killed and the backpack stolen? Could scythes? Is there any way to allow a Reaper to trigger the trackers, to call for help rather than depend on the preset tolerances of the mechanism?"

Franklin made some interested noises and promised to follow up in his spare time.

Alan put down the phone and looked at the Comptograph on his desk. It glared back. He suspected that it despised him, but bravely he picked up the manual and got to work. Somewhere in this budget he was going to hide some funds for combined debriefings and planning sessions with the Garrison. Symposia. Ancient Greek for 'drunken brawl.' Whatever loosened up the frigid relationship between the Reapers and the Angels.

Also, he had to find a way to pay the teams borrowed from other Branches. It was a good thing the fiscal year was almost over...wait, had it been a year already? Doesn't time fly when you're having fun. Could he hide a symposium inside the Midsummer party? Feed everybody a late lunch al fresco during the debrief, then let ale, beer, sunset and the bonfire promote fellowship...maybe the Angels could also bring food and drink...The Reapers would find Angelic food interesting, and the Angels would be fascinated by the multicultural spread the Reapers laid out...

No more daydreaming. He took up a list of expenses. Bravely he punched a button on the adding machine. It did not explode or bite him, which was encouraging. He pressed a few more buttons, consulted the manual, and was relieved to hear a knock at his door. "Come."

Junior Frederic Brock, his senior aide, entered with an armload of Collection Reports. "Mr. Humphries, can you sign this cover letter? This is all of yesterday's—ooh! is that the newest Comptograph? It is! The one that prints!"

Alan had never before witnessed a case of love at first sight. This was undeniably Love’s Thunderbolt. That hostile gadget was practically begging to be noticed. Brock was obviously yearning to caress its keys and crank. Alan performed a proper introduction of machine to man, with the careful inclusion of the Operating Manual and a quick review of talents and capabilities on both sides. The couple were instant friends-nay, soulmates. Within mere moments they promised each other a golden mathematical future in which budgets and double-entry bookkeeping walked hand in hand along a primrose path into a future of perfectly balanced accounts.

With a noble air of selfless sacrifice, Alan bestowed man and machine upon each other. The machine was veiled in its modest, virginal dust cover and carried across the threshold into Brock's work area, along with all the expense records, all the estimated budget items, a list of computations needed by five o'clock, a folding table to enthrone the machine by Brock's desk, and a shiny new filing cabinet. Alan felt that he had just performed a marriage and paid a substantial dowry. The dust cover tenderly lifted, Brock and his new love sat murmuring endearments to each other. His fingers ran over her keys. The Comptograph was responding with demure, daintily aligned columns of numbers.

Alan withdrew to allow them their privacy. It was the only decent thing to do. At least he had controlled his blushes. He was probably going to need somebody to pick up Brock's other responsiblilities as Brock inevitably began to take over the books. One of the injured Juniors, perhaps. He signed the cover letter, picked up the stack of reports, and headed off to Admin. _Was this how Will felt when he first dumped the Budget on me? Free, free...  
  
_

* * *

  
A week of lazing about and pretending to be injured was surprisingly difficult. It did have its advantages—Ronnie was completely recovered—but sitting and waiting was hard, very hard. Grell had exhausted the shopping opportunities within two days. She and Junior Quirke had discussed all their hair-care and beauty products, the team had gone through all the new scythe designs, and still no demons appeared. Grell had even lacquered her nails, declaring that it was an unalterable law of nature that some emergency would arise before the polish dried.The area's death list was quite manageable, with four Reapers and no epidemics or gang fights. Eric was quite impressed with Grell, who had with great difficulty refrained from flouncing off looking for trouble or causing a catastrophe to while away the time. It was never a good idea to let Grell become bored. Still, she sat quietly and acted the part of someone who was not feeling at the top of her form.

There had been a few short visits. A demon or demons had popped in and out. Junior Quirke had delivered her backpack to the excited Lab scientists. They had immediately given her a newer model and sent her back. She was able to report that the Angels in the Lab were starting to show interest in the device, possibly starting to work with the Reapers instead of merely alongside them.

Eric was wondering how Alan was managing teaching both Eric's classes and his own, when Grell raised her head from a Gothic Romance and sniffed.

"If we can smell them, they can smell us. But they're upwind."

With exquisite nonchalance, Ronnie disentangled himself from his chair and sauntered off to the right, leaving plenty of space to summon his lawnmower. Eric took the left side, leaving Grell in the center. Iris faded back behind Grell.

Nothing. Eric went up to the rootops, returned at once.

"Next street over, headed this way through the alleys. Maybe twenty of 'em. Iris, leave. Tell the Lab Angels we've got a raid. Ronnie, raise the alarm at the office and get back here with everybody ye can. They're trying for stealth so we may have a moment or two."

Smiling like a child with a birthday present, Grell summoned her chainsaw. Sometimes afterlife was wonderful. Eric, also armed, said "C'mon. Let's not make it easy for 'em. Let's port around a bit. Let 'em chase us. See if we can draw them into tight spaces to keep them from rushing us; kill them off one at a time."

"You are no fun at all, you know that?"

"How is driving them nuts not fun, Red? When help arrives you can turn and catch your pursuers between yourself and the responders. Remember not to kill any Angels if they show up."

The Demons began to pour out of the alleys. Grell waggled her fingers at them and ported herself and Eric to the rooftops; waved again, and ported to ground level in another street. The demons snarled and followed. Eric took them both into a tree beween buildings. the demons followed again, landing in the pigpen beneath the tree. Eric made one last port back to the bistro where they had planned their final defense. The demons arrived in the street almost immediately. Eric released Grell into berserker mode and followed in her wake to guard her back. The chainsaw screeched. There came an answering roar. Ronnie had returned, lawnmower howling, bringing the Reapers who'd been writing up their reports in the office. The sweep team arrived with a yell. More Reapers ported in from adjoining territories—the Monitors had been notified.

Grell was killing merrily. Eric swung his scythe to behead a demon, turned for a heart strike on another. Suddenly there was something behind him, something cold and determined. He turned, registered combat fatigues and a shining sword, and continued around to slash a demon coming in from the side. It stumbled into the Angel's sword. He grinned at the Angel, who paused briefly—oh. This fellow hadn't seen a Reaper in battle form before, all glowing eyes and pointy teeth and the skull beneath the skin. The Angel recovered and grinned back. Both ran forward to flank Grell and kill anything she'd left standing. Very few, actually. Between the Reapers and a squad of Angels, the street was a right mess of demon bits.

Grell screamed in rage as the last demons ported home. Eric watched as Ronnie calmed her down. He looked about. No Reapers down.

"Alan! What are you doing here!"

Alan turned, still in full fight mode with scars flaring, and gave Eric a terrifying grin. "Where else would I be?"

"Yer s'posed to be holding the Branch!"

"Oh, no, only if Will's not there, and I was too fast for him, so he's stuck with it," Alan said cheerfully. He faded to his normal mild appearance. "I knew you were in trouble, and I knew he was in his office. So I came before he could order me to stay. He'll ream me for that but it's worth it."

Grell sauntered up, all slinking sensuous sultry danger and bloodlust, with her chainsaw dripping ichor at her side. She stood hipshot, and surveyed the Angel standing beside Eric. "Hi, sailor. New in town?"

The Angel looked panicky. Demons were one thing, but Grell was definitely beyond the call of duty. Not in contract.

"Now, Grell. What would William say about frightening your allies?" said Alan, copying Will's most reasonable I-am-a-professional-killjoy tone. "Oh, Color-Sergeant, so good to see you again. All is well, I hope?"

"Just retrieving my squad, Mr. Humphries. May I have my soldier back? 'Tis only fair, I brought you your Junior."

Eric looked around. Iris Quirke was standing behind the Color-Sergeant, excited and triumphant. "Iris, this is probably a stupid question, but why did ye not stay at the Lab?"

"I knew that there would be no danger if I came in with the Angels. And there wasn't. But I caught the demons porting out, just as I recorded them porting in! We have all the data we need!" She quickly estimated Eric's tolerance for excuses. "I have to deliver it now." She zipped out before he could yell at her. Clever Junior.

The Angel escaped quickly to his platoon. Grell pouted and walked back to the widely grinning Knox. Alan moved to Eric's side and smiled up at him. "I should get back to the office so Will can shout at me. See you tonight. Shall we eat in the Cafeteria? Nobody's going to have time to cook; you'll be writing up this action and I'll be doing whatever Will hands me as a punishment. I just have to make sure it's something I need to do anyway and have already outlined."

_Damn. How am I going to protect Alan when he won't stay out of a fight?_


	19. Debrief

Bourne and Slingby had agreed in the hospital to meet and talk. Life had become a little busy since then, but finally the opportunity had arisen. In the name of post-combat debriefing, they had retreated to The Scythe and Skull. Bourne liked the place. It was a Reaper bar with tables and chairs, serving excellent ales and beers. For those who wanted oblivion as quickly as possible, there were whiskeys and gin. The bar was clean and quiet - too early for Second Shift, too late for First. They found a table against the wall and settled in for a nice gossip.

Quite pleased with his pint of mild and bitter, Bourne tried the salted nuts. Not bad at all. Slingby took a sip of his stout. 

"Well, that went better than I thought it would," said Eric. "No notable injuries. No friendly-fire accidents. Glad you arrived when you did; too many of them for us. They're getting better at it, ye see? They're bringing soldier types instead of their household minions. The leaders are beginning to command from the rear. If we get to one, his soldiers keep fighting and take orders from other leaders. That's new. They're not stupid. They are learning, even as we are."

"So are we," said Bourne. "Glad to be of service. My soldiers now understand that protecting you is important. The Archangel Azrael instilled that in their very beings. He was most displeased. I'm happy to say the alarm system now works. Our klaxons went off just before we received notice from Dispatch and the London Lab. Nice to know they're all working together. Now, sir, you mentioned trouble in ten years. I believe you have a theory about all this."

"I do, sir. Are ye sure ye want to hear it all? For theory it is, and little worrying bits of knowledge, and a long experience in the Realm. But mere theory nonetheless."

"Call me Frank. Please tell me all. The experience and knowledge of a senior sergeant is never to be dismissed."

"Then I'm Eric. Ye know about the Ravenings, of course. Do ye know about the Hellmouth under the school?"

"Yes. Nasty. It's been filled in and sealed with a few surprises left on either side of both doors."

"Good. Ignore all that for a moment. Now. Historically at all times there are just enough Reapers to cover the world, if we work long hours and overtime, and if we mostly work alone, or with one Junior or Senior partner. But we get killed or taken by demons, and we go mad because our version of immortality is horrible for a human or someone who was human once, and sometimes we just vanish. The Academy turns out replacements at a steady rate. Takes five years or more to train them up to Senior status. Many die before they can be sent out alone. Many never graduate - best not to ask where they're sent if they fail. Result is that our numbers increase or decrease in proportion with the human population."

"Stable standing army. Do go on."

"Aye. One exception. If there is going to be a huge, extended human disaster in about a decade, the class size at the Academy increases. Slowly at first, then faster until the school is as full as it can hold. I came from one of those big classes, and so did our Madame Administrator. We had just achieved Senior status when the Black Death came through." Slingby's face was filled with old pain.

"We reaped through that, and when it was over our numbers had declined to below previous levels. We'd been killed or taken or maddened. Just enough survivors to cover a world with far fewer human souls. The Academy had produced exactly enough graduates to compensate for our losses, d'you see."

Bourne was silent. Slingby drank.

"Happened again two hundred years later, before the London Plague." Slingby paused, sighed, continued.

"Alan and I teach at the Academy, ye ken? Right now the Academy is chock full. Last year's class was slightly smaller. We don't know how long the class sizes have been increasing. Those graduates will be the officers of the army of Reapers we are going to need to cope with the coming disaster.

"Alan was asking the other teachers about the trend. He learned that the percentage of successful graduates will be climbing, because the standards have been relaxed. That's bad news. The coming disaster will need a lot of Reapers. Alan was called on the carpet and told to stop asking questions above his rank. He was there to teach and only to teach. Not too long after, just before the Audit, we got orders from our own hierarchy to be quiet. After the Audit those orders were not rescinded."

"You suspect there is something to hide, then," said Bourne. "Quite right. So then?"

"If they follow the previous pattern the school population will remain at full for about five years, then taper off. Those students become the soldiers of our army. When the graduates of the last big class have attained Senior rank, expect the disaster to begin. There's your ten years."

"A plague, then?"

"Ach, no. Well, maybe, who knows? But for the beginning I think war. Disease does follow human armies, of course. But newspapers from the human realm tell me of many countries edging up to war. I think it's going to be a big one. Especially if other Academies around the world are doing the same thing. If you knew where, when and how many, you would know which countries were going to be involved." Eric and Frank emptied their glasses.

"Alan's the one who figured out this part. Hell is also preparing for war. London was chosen as a training ground, perhaps because they assumed the Garrison would not interfere. Maybe collusion at a high level, though I think it was just a lazy Colonel promoted above his level of ability; sorry, no offense intended."

Bourne nodded encouragingly and signaled for refills.

"The Ravenings are practice for the battlefields. Wipe out the Reapers, take all the souls. The demons cannot cooperate, but they can be commanded and bound by those of higher rank. They are getting better at it. They were negotiating for advanced weapons from the Research facility at the Academy. Thus the Hellmouth. I'm sure ye've seen what happens when an aggressor with superior weapons attacks a population that has much inferior arms. Massacres will happen in both the Human and Reaper Realms. We don't know what effect those weapons would have on Angels. You'll want to find out. There ye have it, Color-Sergeant."

"Eric, this is a most unpleasant future you are predicting."

"Aye, Frank. If I didn't have Alan I'd rather die than go through it again. The Reapers we lost were good friends. Two of them were students of ours. Alan laid rosemary wreaths on their graves this morning. We will lose our friends, our students, and finally ourselves, most likely. I'm hoping to keep Alan out of it as long as possible. He cares, you see. That's a bad thing, in a Reaper."

"Come, brace up, Eric. You have the Garrison on your side now. Today's invasion failed."

"It did. They know you showed up in force and fully armed. So they will adjust again. Perhaps they will look for another city with another inattentive Garrison. Maybe Leeds or Bristol. They may run their novice teams in exercises there, then send experienced strike forces here for additional training. Can you spread the word to other NCOs in other Garrisons? We have maybe ten years to learn to work together. "

"I can, and I will."

"Good. Ye know little Iris, the lass ye brought into the fight today? Her Seniors were the team killed in the fifth Ravening. They saved her and died. Remember her sorrow and her need for revenge when other Garrisons tell ye we're none of their concern."

* * *

Alan stood before Spears' desk, quietly enduring a first-class Spears rant. Will had wanted to check that Grell was unharmed, and was furious that Alan had left first. One portion of Alan's mind, a small one, tracked the lecture. The rest was scheming.

The first thing, of course, was to submit the Budget. Brock and his Comptometer could then be assigned to keep the books. ffoulkes, who delighted in documentation, could handle the daily paperwork and interface with Admin. Best to let him figure out for himself that actually transferring to Admin would mean an effective demotion and long years of working up from a file clerk position. Make sure those two were still sparring regularly. No Collections Agent could afford to neglect weapons training. Next was to plan apprenticeships for the more successful of this year's interns. Ten Hagen showed real promise, if this year's events didn't make Spectacles look better to him. Third, improve relations with the Garrison. Fourth, somebody to do his grading...but he would review the work, to see who needed extra help. 

The rant paused. Alan said, "Yes, sir," humbly, and the torrent of words resumed. Good. Now—fifthly, was it? Fifthly he needed to watch for any trainee likely to wash out, in case they might be useful to Brock and ffoulkes. If they had no desire to switch to a particular Division, they might be happy with Admin-type duties and only occasional street Reaping. Also a slower, longer training period might correct their shortcomings in Retrievals...

"All mimsy were the borogroves, and the mome raths outgrabe."

What? Oops.

"Welcome back, Humphries. In brief; you will not abandon your station again."

"Sir, you were present and in charge. I responded to an emergency along with the rest of the office." _When did I stop dreading this man's disapproval?_

"Quibbling, Mr. Humphries. We both know you can justify anything if you are given three minutes to think. Stop it. Let me restate your new standing orders. When you are in the office, any emergency makes you second in command. You will not port out into a street fight without my permission. If I am not here to consult, you will not leave for any reason."

Oh, yes, and sixthly they needed three senior office managers, experienced but maybe a little beyond active Reaping, with some command skills... 

"Sir, I understand and will obey. But let me state that if I know that Eric is seriously injured, I must go. It's not a choice but an imperative. In the future it might be a problem. Have you considered assigning an office manager to each shift, just in case we are both offsite or off duty when an emergency arises? What if I am teaching when you need to leave?" 

"Stop trying to distract me, Humphries! Overtime!"

"Can't do it sir. Classes, student counselling and an appointment with the London Lab. I'm already fully booked." Alan was beginning to understand Eric's enjoyment of making that little vein in Spears' forehead pop. Totally childish, of course. He should be ashamed of himself. Maybe later. "But if we are going to consider the office as a last stronghold against attack, we really do need a line of command on all shifts."

"Write me a proposal, Humphries. On my desk in no more than two hours. Get out."

* * *

The London Lab had never seen such a party. Well, actually it was their first party, but most of the attendees had little social life. Two Angels had flown to Naples and returned with boxes of Pizza Margherita. Agent Quirke had taken a couple of Reapers to a pub in Area Fourteen to fetch screwtop quarts of beer. They had the data they needed to begin working on accurate alarms and detectors. There were two more beer runs and one for more of that great pizza. They invited in the techs from Monitors, who brought in sodas. Iris Quirke stayed until one of the Monitors whispered that her glasses had just been tracked. She went back to the Goodfellow-D'Acres apartment and apologized for not checking in sooner.

* * *

At long last things began to change.

Fortunately, Will had never visited the Monitor area. It would have offended every corner of his meticulous being. No black suits, no gloves, an air of rumpled informality. Even the Angels dressed casually and carried screwdrivers. Everybody crawled under furniture to run power cables. These workers were sedentary, not thin and fit. 

Unlike some other areas where Angels and Reapers worked together, the Monitor Department was a happy place. It was filled with beings who loved technology and cared for little else except perhaps a steady supply of sugar and caffeine. Nobody cared where anyone lived at night, dorms or the Garrison. Indeed, many simply stayed, using bedrolls on cots in the storage rooms. The six-two-one rule was strictly enforced; in each 24-hour period, each person was required to get six hours of sleep1, two proper meals2 and one shower with soap3.

Everybody agreed that the current systems were unbuffable4 crap. All the Monitors had spent the last half-century or so mentally designing a better approach. Suddenly opportunity had knocked. In all the universe, nobody was happier than the Monitor techs. Plans were shared, compared and expanded. Joyous arguments were had by all. Experiments showed that it was indeed possible to send electronic information between Angelic, Reaper and Mortal Realms without signal loss or corruption. This of course implied that the Demonic Realm could also listen in. Three fellows were working on ciphers already, just in case future devices were developed to allow wireless complex information exchange or voice communication.

The old Angelic alarms detected groups of demons greater than four, somewhere in a large area, and only if the demons considerately stopped for a nice cuppa to give the detector a chance to work.

Reaper alarms reported broken glasses, by which time the fight was usually over and the Reaper beyond help.

Now they had the chance to replace this garbage with a single integrated system for both Realms. A lot could be based on the London Lab's recorded trackable demonic signals which registered immediately upon the demons' arrival or departure. Requests were made for technologies from further forward than previously permitted. The Reapers were denied, but the Angels were not; the new equipment and training were shared.

Angelic stationary detectors that signified 'trouble somewhere in this general area' were scrapped for models that reported 'this many demons, this exact place.' Improved detectors were installed all over London, closer together and maintained by whoever drew the short straw that week.

Glasses that said 'Reaper here' were upgraded to 'Reaper at this time and place, engaging in unusual physical activity, alert Reapers nearby.' Every Collections Agent got new glasses, which meant that everyone had an up-to-date prescription as well. The Reaper Monitors, of course, also had their glasses replaced as a further test of the system; as a side benefit, many prescriptions were corrected for occupational myopia. 

A team of Monitors were working with the Lab on miniaturizing demonic detection devices into something a combatant could carry between Realms without experiencing a backache or an explosion. They borrowed a couple of consultants from the 'Stinks and Booms' lab, just in case one of the explosive options could be made useful. The Angels were intrigued.

What fun!

It was not as much fun for the Reapers. The first detection devices were designed to hang from a belt. They were heavy, cumbersome, lumpy and fragile, barely fitting beneath a Reaper's jacket. They fell apart in the lab without even waiting to be used. After they were redesigned to keep an internal spring from popping open the case and shooting batteries across the room, a few Juniors were assigned to carry them. Most were returned in pieces. One was returned in a bottle; the case was not ichor-proof. One caught fire on Roberts' belt. He threw it away before it exploded. "It did no damage but distracted the demon, so it was some use," he reported. "Can't recommend it as a weapon, though."

The improved model had a cover treated with the same protections as a Reaper's suit. It was a little smaller and much sturdier. A few were issued to Senior Reapers. One actually worked. Alarms sounded, people scrambled, demons ran. The Monitors' celebration fizzled somewhat with the arrival of Grell Sucliff, angry and disheveled. She dropped a handful of parts on a table.

"Listen, you lot, this thing's still too big and too breakable. It has no style, no class and damn little utility. Remember, we have to fight while wearing it. It activated just fine when the demons came in, but then I had to drop and roll. I've a huge bruise on my delicate derrière and most of the gadget's in bits too small to bring back." She turned her back on her horrified audience, loosened her belt and displayed the injury. 

"Kiss it and make it well," she hissed.

Her partner, forestalling a general panic, offered to buy her a drink at the bar of her choice. She accepted graciously. After they were safely gone, the monitors voted him a brave man and moved his name to the top of their list for the first really good version.

The third model was issued soon after, to Juniors less likely to be involved in battles. It was smaller, lighter, more sensitive, and the belt clip broke on half of them. The rest were recalled. The Lab Researchers and Monitors had a meeting with Supplies and two of Scythes' top Artificers. The belt design was scrapped for a flatter, longer model which would fit in the inner pocket of a Reaper's jacket. No clip meant less weight and bulk. Supplies suggested that the pocket could easily be provided with a button tab to keep the detector in place. Scythes began thinking of more durable case materials and longer-lived batteries. An angel mentioned that a rechargeable model might be requested from the future; he had far more likelihood of gaining permission than the Reapers. Research suggested experiments with two-way communications. Monitors, Reaper and Angelic, decided to recruit more trainees to cover an increasing workload.

It was the Mark IV that was actually usable. Tested successfully by Juniors, then by Seniors in combat simulations, it was approved for general use. The Monitor Center solemnly presented the first two to Senior Collections Agents Ronald Knox and Grell Sutcliff. The third went to Junior Collections Agent Iris Quirke, who had shown them where to buy the beer. 

Supplies arranged a mass production and issued them to all London Retrieval Agents. The Angels added those signals to their stationary detector reporting system, effectively tripling the number of detectors in service. The strength of the signal indicated the number of demons arriving. Angelic patrols started keeping count. They went after all the signals, killing even single predators. The patrol with the lowest score at the end of the month bought the pizza.

They became quite proud that _their_ Reapers could Reap in peace. They bragged about the Redhead with the Chainsaw and the fierce little Junior who evaded her orders to record a Ravening. When Alan sent a note of thanks to the Garrison, stating that the death rates among trainees had fallen to zero and that their training had progressed unusually quickly, the Garrison celebrated quietly. Stories were told of the Great Scot and his Little Titch With The Scars; of the Teams and their Juniors; of the Monitors and the London Lab, where Reapers and Angels worked together in a common cause to support the Game. 

The story spread among other Garrisons that London had a new game. One or two had suffered visits from Azrael and began setting up scoreboards. Another story spread that London had a new alarm system, which was essential to the game. There was some interest, but not enough, not at first. 

The next Ravening was in Aberdeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6-2-1 Rule (Doc Passovoy's Law of Surviving a Convention or Other Natural Disaster); Uncle Skippy’s corollaries:  
> 1 Red Bull™ is not sleep  
> 2 Cheetos™ is not food  
> 3 Febreze™ is not soap
> 
> 4As in: You can't put a shine on a POS


	20. Aberdeen

Aberdeen, or Obar Dheathain, was a city built on fishing, shipbuilding, and quarries, incorporated in 1891. It had originally been covered by the Edinburgh Branch of the Collections Division. As the city grew, a local sub-Branch had been formed. As is often the case with new locations, it had been staffed with Reapers who did not quite fit in at the home office. In this instance, the problem was usually short-tempered aggression. The manager of the Aberdeen Outpost was the last man standing after a general brawl in the earliest days of the office. He had successfully established an us-against-anyone philosophy which minimized demon depredation—not that there was a great deal. A few of their workers carried flails or "Turf Aerating Devices" (Watch the divots fly!) which looked suspiciously like sharpened nine irons. Their office kept a set of war pipes on display under the slogan "Let's Get the Bastards."

Aberdeen was nominally under the protection of the Edinburgh Garrison, which (according to Aberdeen) probably couldn't find it on a map, if they even had a map. It was an ideal substation, doing its job and requiring no attention. The last thing Aberdeen wanted was a visiting official to come in and make uninformed changes to procedures which worked well in the local environment.

Senior Reaper MacRae was in the fifteenth hour of a double shift. His feet were wet, his knees hurt, his trainee was whining and his temper had bought a ticket for a day trip to Peterhead. When demons materialized around them, having somebody to hit was a positive relief. He cut one demon off at the neck and two at the knees. He checked, and found his trainee gutting another—well, at least the boy had good instincts, even if he'd been a right pain for the last four hours. He whacked an attacker on the nose, grabbed the trainee's arm and ported them well out of it. They arrived in the office with news of a dandy fight just waiting to be enjoyed. Everyone who was sick of paperwork ported immediately to the scene of MacRae's encounter, taking the demons from behind and two sides, and forced them towards the harbor. The fight was not one-sided; the demons were numerous and by definition better armed. Their behavior was unconventional. They were working together. An alarm must have sounded somewhere. An Angel popped in, looked about in surprise, popped out and returned with a few friends. This made the fight too fair for the demons, who left snarling.

The Angels guarded the Reapers while they sorted themselves out and injuries were assessed. One or two were taken to the Infirmary. The remainder, Angels and Reapers alike, adjourned to a pub to discuss this interesting occurrence.

"Very strange. Demons working together without dissolving into a quarrel. Hunting together as a group, not just as individuals in competition."

"Not after souls. After us, the buggers. What's the purpose of that?"

The Angel looked worried. "The London Garrison sent out a bulletin recently. This sort of raid has been seen there over the last year, several of them, and becoming more deadly as time goes on. Deaths and severe injuries to their Reapers. You were lucky. This group was new and not very good at it. We're going to have to make major upgrades in our alarm system. We really didn't think they'd come here when there are so many fat English targets down south. Who tracks your glasses?"

"Edinburgh, if they bother."

"You'll be getting new frames and better backup. We'll be talking to their Monitors. We are setting up new outposts. Edinburgh and Glasgow Garrisons now cover everywhere from Perth south to Gretna. Outposts at Inverness and Portree cover the rest. We'll be adding more stations soon - you'll have your own within the year. We'll be installing a new alarm system which will cooperate with your own.

"London's had to take in a lot of trainees to begin an increase in staffing levels. They don't send out singles with Juniors of less than three years' experience now—two Seniors with each trainee, and only in areas between those with two Seniors with no apprentices. We'll tell Edinburgh Dispatch to consult with London."

"Will they listen?"

"They'll get a visit from Azrael if they don't. "

"Might as well send him in now. Change won't happen before that."

* * *

D'Acres and Fitzwilliam lingered over tea in the Cafeteria.

"Why would I object to your mentoring a trainee, Fitz?"

"Well, Roland, it does add to your obligations. You're still sorta honeymooning. Also you're housing a orphaned Junior. Are you thinking of taking over her apprenticeship?"

"No. She's moving back into Junior Housing next week. She's been seconded to Sutcliff. "

"Sutcliff? A mentor? Really? Grell's signing up for five years of responsible behavior?"

"Actually, Knox is fronting this for Sutcliff. She is generally considered too unstable to train Juniors, but Ronald is willing to be the mentor of record. Sutcliff is determined to make a demon fighter out of Quirke. She's promised to train her up to a motorized scythe. Quirke is anxious to learn. They all had a long talk with Alan Humphries, who sponsored this arrangement to Director Spears. Sutcliff understands that she will cause a great deal of embarrassment and trouble for both Knox and Humphries if she fails in this promise, and that Director Spears will be disappointed as well. Should that happen, Sutcliff will leave the partnership. Knox will take over Quirke's training and Humphries will assign him an experienced Senior partner. Sarah and I both talked to Iris, who understands that part of her duty will be calming Grell down when necessary. Should be an interesting triad."

"Then I would like to mentor Intern Ten Hagen as soon as he passes his final exam. Slingby recommends him as smart, competent and beginning to show leadership qualities. Humphries agrees, now that his eyesight is properly corrected. Also, I like the kid. He's a strategist. Want to give it a try? I'll train and protect. You'll give additional instruction and defend us as we Reap."

"Sarah and I are ready to be alone in our apartment again. Ten Hagen will live in Junior Housing."

"No problem. He'll think it heaven after the Academy barracks. His classmates will be living there as well, one of whom is going into Scythes. Always good to have a connection in Scythes."

* * *

_Thump._

"Here you are, Will. The 1905 Budget, version one. The blue cover is for Madame Administrator. The red cover is for you."

"Thank you, Alan. Why is my copy so much thicker?"

"It's annotated. Let me show you. These items marked in red? These are the ones you need to insist upon; they are absolutely necessary to the safety and well-being of our Reapers. Raises, training and equipment, remedial classes for new graduates, funding for more trainees and interns, symposia to enhance understanding and cooperation with other Divisions and the Garrison.

"These marked in yellow are items we can live without, although in most cases it will be unpleasant to do so. Expanded seating, office equipment and scythe storage to accommodate our growing workforce; a slush fund to pay Reapers borrowed from other Branches; another for Reapers on medical leave who need in-home care. Money to hire experienced, underutilized Seniors willing to transfer to London.

"These marked in green are throwaways. I've put them in purely as items to give up in order to gain others. These bargaining chips are genuine needs that it would be good to have. They may appear as yellow items next year or the year after, as our jobs become more dangerous and as other Branches call upon us for help.

"Footnotes are in this section in the rear. They explain the reasoning and give proofs of need."

"My word. This is triple this year's budget."

"After review it will probably be cut to double. Considering that this year's money was barely equal to our needs, I've tried to build a budget that will suffer pruning and still get us through a year which will see us under constant attack. As other cities come under attack as well, more help will be asked of us. Tell me if there are any additions you want made, or that Madame Administrator suggests.

"Fight for this, Will. Remember our losses, our difficulty getting help, the Hellmouth at the Academy. Fight for every penny, every advantage. You are fighting for our lives."

* * *

Will spent several hours with both versions of the Budget. He stood at his window, seeing nothing. He went for tea. Untouched, it grew cold. He made another cup. When Grell came in to remind him that it was long past time to go home, he allowed her to chivvy him back to their apartment. She made dinner. She made him eat. She asked him several times if he was all right. At last he took her into a soft hug.

"Live, Grell. Fight and triumph, but be careful. You must live."

"Of course I will. Am I not the Red Reaper of London? And I have a Junior now. Would I put Iris through another devastating loss? Come to bed, dearest."

* * *

Director William T. Spears laid down the Budget on the desk and bowed formally to Madame Administrator. "Version One of the 1905 Budget, Madame."

She tapped the red cover with a finger. "A large document, Mr. Spears."

"Mr. Humphries presented me with two copies, Madame, a plain one and an annotated one. As this is merely a first version, I believe that this copy with its reasoning and proofs of need would be the proper one to work from."

"Ah. This copy was for your use. Thank you for sharing it with me. I assume you have reviewed it? Are there any items you would remove as unnecessary or unwise?"

"Not one, Madame."

"Very well. Return at this time one week from today, Mr. Spears."


	21. Cardiff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Countdown: Year Two of Ten. 1905

Alan and Eric sat quietly on a rooftop with a lunch of fish and chips. It was a cold wintry day but they were next to a hot chimney and protected from the wind. Alan hoped that the weather would keep them private. Any sensible Reaper would have sought the warmth of the Branch Cafeteria.

"I need your advice, Eric. I've got a team in crisis. Anders and Brandon are too nervous in the field. They need to regain confidence. Can they do it while responsible for a beginner? Should I interrupt Terry's training to assign him elsewhere before he starts trying to protect his Seniors when they should be protecting him? Or will it just make him properly cautious? I've put them in the most boring, low-density area we have. It's not helping. Should I suggest they transfer to some small rural outpost?"

"They've trained other Juniors well. Samuel Terry. I remember him as a steady student and a capable fighter. D'ye think his Seniors are doing him harm? They were an excellent team before they were injured."

"Yes, they were. Before they were injured. They were recovering well enough until they witnessed the deaths of McCain and Thatcher. Now the dynamic has changed. They jump at every noise and order their trainee away; he's popping in and out of the office too often. He's upset by their distrust. I'm afraid they're reliving having their previous Junior's scythe captured and used against them. They've exhausted all medical leave and counseling. And they are out of time, because Will has noticed that they are botching their Reaps. He's agreed to give me a week before he brings down formal disciplinary action on them."

"Ah. Do ye think that having no Junior to worry about will settle them back down?"

"Maybe. Not really. They are experiencing a breakdown. I don't want this to go on Terry's record as a failed apprenticeship. I don't want a promising Junior ruined by poor training. I don't want the Scousers marked as a team unfit to teach unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't want Will to dismiss them or note their underperformance in their permanent records. I don't want them to join the ranks of the suddenly disappeared. I want to end their distress and dithering before it gets them killed. It's fine for them to live together, but work together they cannot. They won't talk to me—I've tried—but I'm Management now, and therefore the enemy. Should I recommend that Will split up the triad and assign new senior partners to all? Should he move Junior Terry to a steadier mentorship? Should we transfer the Scousers out to a smaller Branch which holds no bad memories? London can't afford to cover for a substandard team. A substandard team cannot long survive in London."

"Ungrateful bastards not to trust you, after you kept Will from abandoning them when they were hurt. Be a pity to lose them, though. I can talk to them. They may suspect me as your partner, but maybe I can get them to talk to you, or at least use me as a go-between."

"Thank you. I'm truly worried about them. I'd be happy to hear that they are perfectly fine and that I'm wrong about all this. But I don't think I am. Will's ready to detach Terry and sack them."

"Give me a couple days to watch them in the field. My patrols cover their area. I want to get a proper look at their behavior before I take them to the Scythe and Skull, tank them up and ask questions." 

Alan chuckled. "Buy them one for me, then. I'll try to keep Will from acting until you can give a considered report. You did say once that there should be oversight for apprenticeships. Now you've a chance to provide it."

* * *

In an office of remarkable grandeur, Madame Administrator defended a fresh copy of the red Budget to a panel of five Higher Ups. They all knew that major changes were necessary, for Azrael had told them; but habit is hard to break.

"This budget is an impossible rise in your funding, Madame. Surely you need no more than a ten percent increase over last year."

"On the contrary, this is what is needed to bring us up to a functional standard. Which, you may remember, was stated to be my purpose in this position."

"We can see the need for housing, food and uniforms to be affordable. But all this extra training for graduates? Surely they traditionally learn from their mentors? Admittedly there has been some difficulty at the Academy...are they really so unprepared?"

"Yes, sir, they are; a danger to themselves and all around them. We are producing our own training materials and lectures on subjects the Academy has skimped or cut. At our own expense."

"The increase in staffing..."

"Absolutely necessary now that Reapers cannot be fielded singly, and since trainees must be accompanied by two Seniors due to increased demonic activity."

"Symposia for greater understanding and cooperation—surely that can be struck out—"

"Sir, we must not remain faceless and worthless to the Angels if they are to be our only protection from Ravenings."

"Madame, this document was compiled by Assistant Director Alan Humphries, was it not? We have had complaints from Research..."

"Quite so. A prime example of a self-fulfilling prophecy. They have reported him as one who bears them a great enmity, one who plots against them constantly, who schemes to injure them. Nonsense. Remember their attacks upon him when he was ill? He has done nothing more than defend himself, and has otherwise avoided them. For most of his career he was quiet, apolitical, unambitious, entirely dedicated to his partner and his work. Now he has gained promotion. By raging against him, they have created what they most feared—a manager who does not trust them to deal honestly. Can you challenge his distrust?"

"We do not. Their own actions have proven him correct."

The ranking Higher Up spoke. "I wish to say that his inclusion of proofs of need are most compelling, Madame. However, such a large increase is quite unusual."

"Pray remember, honored sir, that I was placed in this position to correct the effects of decades of underfunding. I am determined to do that job. I do not like to go outside our hierarchy, but in this instance I think I must. If this budget is cut by more than one-quarter, I shall appeal to Azrael. He's currently based at the London Garrison. He has been reviewing other Garrisons and investigating the appearance of the Hellmouth at the Academy. He is accelerating the improvements to the alarm systems of the rest of the country. I believe he will want London to be on a war footing. That requires proper funding and a large increase to our workforce."

"Quite right, Madame. Agreed, gentlemen? No? Will you want to argue with the Archangel, after our meeting with him last week? Didn't think so. Excellent. Let us cut a very few of the least pressing items, to avoid jealousy from other Branches. I will then file this budget with our approval."

Madame Administrator returned to her own office, shut and locked her door, and executed a quick little dance step which had been the height of fashion a couple of centuries before.

* * *

"Mr. Humphries, for your files, here is a copy of the Budget, amended and approved by all."

"Thank you, Mr. Spears. That was quick. How badly is it cut?"

"Surprisingly little. About half of your bargaining chips. I shall immediately begin putting our new grants and procedures into effect. We have funds for extended training and lecturers; hold that for June's intake of graduates and interns. I have arranged with Admin for you to interview a few of their surplus workers who would be happy to transfer to desk duty in your Department."

"My Department?" squeaked Alan.

"Of course, your Department. You are now Operations Management. Congratulations. About these Admin workers. If you deem two or three of them useful, we can route all Reapers' Collections documentation directly to them. Their purpose is to gather, proofread, alphabetize and register it, and deliver it to Admin, who will pay half their salaries if they also help with filing it all. They will also follow up on overdue paperwork and provide all necessary nagging.

"The Academy has a list of graduate students who have applied to do your grading and handle your class handouts. Choose two who could deliver your lectures in an emergency. You will personally assume scheduling. I want that handled by somebody who knows all our staff."

"Sir, if I am to assume scheduling, I must also Reap to keep my knowledge of the streets and Areas current. If I do not, I shall go stale and our people will suffer for my ignorance—"

"You're doing the scheduling. Assign yourself half-shifts as necessary. Attach yourself to the sweep teams or to teams with injuries who need backup. Whenever you have time to spare from your other duties." Was that an actual _smirk?_ Will was enjoying this. Well, so could Alan.

"Very well, sir. The Branch bookkeeping is now the responsibility of Junior Brock. He will keep this copy of the Budget and ensure that we do not exceed it. Please advise him of all expenditures. Any outlay queries should go to him and Maybelle."

"Maybelle?"

"His Printing Comptometer, sir. He has named her Maybelle." Will winced.

"I will look for an Admin with bookkeeping experience to assist him, to make sure that we remain in compliance with their standards at all times. I shall assign the other Admin transfers to ffoulkes, who is currently in charge of all the paper which goes to Admin for filing and tracking. Once again, to keep us in full compliance. In case of an Audit, you know." Another wince.

"Now, sir, to continue with the business of the day; Cartwright and Cortland are at the end of a successful apprenticeship. Cartwright has formally recommended that Cortland be promoted to Senior rank. I've completed the necessary forms. Sign here, please. And here. Thank you. I'll see this is processed and announced today. 

"And since you were about to ask, here is my recommendation for Brandon and Anders. Tomorrow morning, pair Anders with Cartwright and Brandon with Sykes. I've already discussed this with Cartwright and Sykes, they're expecting it. Make it clear that Cartwright and Sykes are the team leaders, and that their new teammates are subordinate due to being in recovery. Give Terry to Forbes and Brewster; they're willing to assume his training, and he's more than willing to switch. We need to state in the records that Terry's change of mentorship was in no way his fault but entirely due to unforeseen circumstances. Likewise that the other reassignments are due to medical necessity."

"You've talked to them?"

"I have. Eric accompanied them for a shift. He and I sat down with them the day after. Sorry, sir, but the triad is toxic. Our only option is to break it up. Eric agrees that the trainee must be removed from the situation. Anders and Brandon feed each other's fears when they Reap. They need to work separately with confident, competent partners. If Cartwright and Sykes report their new teammates still unsteady after a year, then we probably should find them positions in a quiet rural Branch or a different Division."

"I can make an immediate offer to Swansea for the team they lent us. They would be satisfactory replacements for those two."

"Please give Brandon and Anders a year, sir. They were excellent Reapers for decades, and can be strong again. Think of all the training invested in them. If we can let them regain themselves over the next year, I can assign them to the office management posts we discussed, responsible for leadership when we are both absent. Their defensiveness will be an advantage here. The cornered-rat syndrome, which any attacker is going to find remarkably unpleasant. I'm going to start rotating Reapers through this duty, starting tomorrow. In one year we'll know who's good at it. "

Will frowned. "Jacobs would be excellent at this post."

"He would, but not until his Junior has enough experience to work singly with Fairbairn. Avram and his partner are excellent mentors. We don't want to bench him when it would interfere with a Junior's training and endanger his partner. I'll be selecting from non-training Seniors. Training Partnerships are too valuable to lose to desk duty. Anders and Brandon will not be assigned another Trainee for at least twenty years. Maybe never.

"And yes, the Swansea team would be very willing to transfer, and a valuable acquisition. I recommend them highly. Please do arrange it if you can. I have a student in mind for them to apprentice in June."

* * *

The Death List for the Cardiff Branch named a large number of fatalities in the South Wales coalfield on March 10. Three teams of experienced Reapers were assigned to the Cambrian Colliery No. 1. They gathered near the mine entrance, checking their lists. The explosion was enormous.

Deep in the mine they completed their collections. One team paused briefly to let a Junior regain control; "Don't be ashamed, youngling. It affects us all that way sometimes. Just make sure you finish your job and see them safe, and never let their Records get you." The other two teams, to grant the boy his privacy, ported up to the surface. There would be further fatalities to be Reaped among rescued miners. The trainee gradually composed himself. To spare him the scene at the mine entrance, his mentor ported them both directly to Cardiff.

They found the office in chaos. All the Seniors and older Juniors were porting out. "Angels fighting Demons at the mine entrance! Didn't you see them?"

"We came in from the coalface. Orders?"

"Leave your trainee here and get back to the mine. Transport injured Reapers to Medical."

* * *

Captain Artois of the London Garrison called Alan Humphries, managing to catch him in his office before his morning classes. "For your information, Assistant Director, there was a Ravening last evening in Wales. Severe injuries to five Reapers, no deaths. The nearest Garrison responded fairly quickly, and there was some confusion about location."

"Indeed, Captain? Thank you for informing me. I'm mapping the Ravenings in hope of seeing a pattern. Confusion?"

"There was a problem with compliance. The Reapers had been issued pocket detectors. They hung one on a trainee. They did at least read enough of the manual to turn it on. They left the rest on their desks. 

"The trainee's device picked up the arrival of the demons from deep in a coal mine. He didn't notice the activation because he was distressed by his Collections. Probably nobody had even told him what the device was for or what to expect. His mentor took him straight back to the office while the other Reapers returned to the surface for follow-up. They encountered the Demons there. 

"The Garrison patrol manifested in the mine, found nothing, and very nearly wrote it off as a false alarm. Fortunately they went up to ground level and discovered a battle in progress. If the Reapers involved in that fight had been wearing their devices, their Angels would have joined them sooner. Their own alarms did not go off. Their glasses frames have not been upgraded to the new standards. We sent one of our soldiers to notify their office."

"How many demons, and how well organized?"

"Twenty-two, well-armed and well lead, and they caught the Reapers completely unaware. They were not interested in a fair fight, of course, and left fairly soon after the local Garrison arrived."

Alan was flipping through the Cardiff Death List. "Oh— _fiddlesticks._ How did they know? How did the demons know there was a group death in that place at that time? Did they make off with any souls? — Ah. According to the Death List, they didn't. But only because your troops arrived in time and in force. Were the demons involved in cause of the explosion? —No. If so, it wouldn't have occurred between shifts and the death rate would have been much higher. Did they just luck into a disaster in an area rich in disasters? Or did somebody gossip in a public place? No way for us to tell."

"Be aware, Mr. Humphries, that every time we have tried to chase down a collusion between our Realms and the Demonic Realm, we have found nothing but internal stupidity or laziness. The one exception was in your Research Division. I believe that to have been ended by Azrael himself."

"Oh. Did Auditing turn over their prisoners to him? Makes sense. D'you know if he will involve himself in Cardiff, sir? London can't interfere; this is going to have to be addressed by their own hierarchy. They are rather insular and conservative over there. I can't even offer help unless they ask. I can only report upwards, suggesting that we might send some Monitors and technical experts to set up their alarm system and train them should they request it. The Monitors need to set up two or three away teams for this sort of thing, there's going to be a lot of it. How can I get that inserted into their thought processes? Quirke to Franklin and Cole, their team and their management... Change becomes very difficult for most of us after a few decades of rigid lockstep uniformity. It's a human thing. Habit. The Monitors are incredibly valuable because they somehow did not ossify...Sorry, Captain. I ramble."

"Oh, no problem." The Captain rather liked listening to Humphries' thought progressions. He did make interesting connections between odd events. Artois always came away with something to think about. "It's likely all Wales may be getting a Visitation. Azrael's displeased enough to delegate. He's borrowed some fairly fearsome Generals from Michael's staff."

"Good. And all of Scotland? The English Branches are coming around quickly now. You know Ireland's going to be seeing this soon. I wonder if other countries are." A sigh. "Not London's business. But my students are my business. I will not see them put at unnecessary risk.

"I'm going to advise my graduates to avoid apprenticeships in reactionary Branches which disallow protections out of distrust of anything new. Maybe send Eric to interview the prospective mentors...Cardiff's trainee has got to be one of my three Joneses from last year. As his former Academy instructor I can follow up, where I cannot as a London Reaper. I will bet that my other two Joneses are running about the coalfields without detectors, too, and their mentors as well... Captain!"

"Urf?" grunted Artois, startled.

"Captain, of Azrael's delegates, to whom can a Reaper appeal if these protections are denied him, whether out of stupidity, stubbornness or power games?"

"No question, Instructor Humphries, the Archangel you want is Uriel. He has no tolerance for any sort of sliding around the rules. Since Azrael has made himself perfectly clear about this already, there will be no acceptable excuses from either Reaper or Angel. Have the supplicant submit his written appeal directly to his Garrison, with a copy to yourself as an instructor at the Academy. Pass your copy to me and I or one of mine will deliver it the same day. Uriel will expect to receive both copies. That will neatly expose any ultraconservative or unresponsive Angelic outposts which might conceal a noncompliant Reaper Branch. It's a good way to flush out intractable brass on both sides."

"Bless you, Captain. I'm going to take my senior-class Ethics students on a field trip to the London Lab so they can fully understand the system and their part in it, and if I have to personally glue a detector to every last one of them at graduation, by the Highest, I will."

"Even the noncombatants?"

"Especially the noncombatants. What if there had been an invasion into this Realm, through the Academy Hellmouth? There’s no alarm system there. Were the students and teachers not entitled to a warning? If Eric—Eric Slingby, he's friends with your Color Sergeant—if Eric is right, there will eventually be no noncombatants. Not in our Realm. Maybe not in yours."

"You can be an uncomfortable, worrisome man, Mr. Humphries."

"Happy to be of service, Captain Artois. Keep your detector charged. But I must say farewell; classes to teach, bullies to kick, traditions to undermine. Enjoy your day, sir. And thank you."


	22. Graduation Day

London in late May; a cold spate of rain. Four in the morning, after a very long night. Graduate Candidates Smithfield and Ten Hagen sat unseen on the mezzanine of a second-rate bordello and consulted their notes on their assigned Reap. This one was going to be no loss to the human realm. He was due to die after being caught cheating at cards. He had spent his life cheating, never getting very good at it; had ignored several opportunities to improve his life and lot; had abandoned or driven away all who might have helped him; and was about to pull a knife on a man who carried a Remington Model 95 Double Derringer. His two assigned Reapers were quite ready to see the end of him.

"Instructor Humphries must be a saint. Imagine caring about one of these Reaps enough to contract the Thorns."

"Actually, I heard the reason for his Thorns was exhaustion, not sympathy. Just barracks gossip, though."

"Still. This man makes me want to go wash up thoroughly. Dutch, will you allow me to do this Reap? I want to actually use my scythe so I can bring some first-hand experience to my apprenticeship, however little. My future Mentor Reaped for over a decade before he transferred into Scythes. I feel I should actually do one Reap before presenting my otherwise ignorant self to the Division."

"Aren't you scheduled for postgrad classes already?"

"Yes, can't wait."

"Makes sense they'll give you some field experience with different sorts of tools. But sure, you lead. I'll back you up and watch for interference. After all, someday I may depend on a scythe of your design."

"Not going for Spectacles, then?"

"No. I got my apprenticeship in London. Senior Fitzwilliam has offered me a Mentorship as soon as we graduate. His partner has agreed to it. I'm excited. They are incredibly skilled. I was really afraid they'd take up Junior Quirke. She's a year older and already of good repute. Luckily for me, she's been assigned to Knox and Sutcliff. Now there's a design for you to think about! Iris wants a power tool like the famous chainsaw. She's no shorter than Sutcliff, but will never have the same high center of gravity or upper-body strength."

"Oh, interesting. Something with the same reach, or nearly so, but lighter. I can talk to Engineer Crawford. Something more in the hedge-trimmer line, maybe. The chain on a narrower blade. Maybe not a gasoline engine, too heavy, but there are variations on the batteries that power our demon detectors. Donnie Cole and Les Franklin say the Angels have a rechargeable battery from a century forward which can..."

"Gunshots. Here we go. Lead on, Smitty, and be careful. I've got your back."

* * *

"Nicely done, Reapers. You are no longer students of the Academy. Here are your certificates of graduation. Show them to get your new glasses and housing assignments, then submit them to your Mentors. I congratulate you on your postings to London. Scythes, is it, Mr. Smithfield? Excellent. We'll be seeing you in their introductory workshops then. And your Mentorship, Mr. Ten Hagen; most satisfactory. A highly respected partnership. We expect you both to do us proud. London Junior Housing will assign your rooms as soon as you can pack up. Your beds in the Barracks here will be filled tonight, so we'll want you out by noon. Leave your books on your shelves. Once settled, visit Spectacles and then check in with your Divisions. Good day."

Out in the hall, Dutch looked at Smitty. "Whoa. We just got the bum's rush. They must be recruiting hard. Not that I'm complaining."

"Come on, let's go get our toothbrushes and get out of here before they change their minds. You're going to want to get your glasses from the London department, not the folks here who botched your first prescription."

"I'll help you carry your post-grad books. We may have an argument getting them out. The students managing the turnover aren't going to be the smartest in the Realm."

"I've all the receipts proving they are mine, and my class schedule. And I'm so happy to be leaving that I'll enjoy making a scene if they try to be stupid about it. Because we're out of here, and they're not."

* * *

The barracks were crowded with excited graduates packing up. Each was allowed to take personal grooming items. Reaper candidates were directed to take only the clothing they wore, leaving the rest in boxes to be collected and reissued. Smitty was surprised to find that he was included in that classification. "Told you," said Dutch. "You'll be learning Scythes in the field. You'll need fireproofing in the Lab. Remember the scandal about uniforms last year? You are going to get a proper Scientific field kit." He looked around at a few beds already completely stripped. One did not ask what happened to those who failed their final Exam.

Smitty saw the glance and shuddered. "Let's go. Now." He hefted his books. It was almost a disappointment that they were passed out of the building without argument. They ported directly to London Junior Housing, joining a group of other graduates waiting in line.

An Admin walked down the line, waving. "Trainees already with roommates, hands up. The rest of you, start pairing up. No singles this year. If you can't find a roommate we'll assign one. Single rooms will become available only if both occupants die or are promoted into Senior Housing, and only for the remainder of the year. Next year any single rooms will be doubled. If we wind up with an odd number of trainees, somebody will have to triple. Complainers get housekeeping duties and no sympathy whatsoever."

Dutch waved. The Admin checked their graduation certificates, made notations on his clipboard, handed them forms. "Fill these out now and give them to the front desk immediately to get your keys. Second South, Room 208, Reaper and postgrad. Follow the signs, dump your stuff, lock up and get over to Spectacles quickly; there's going to be a long line."

After a short flurry of scribbling and a longer wait in line, the keys were presented. They found their room to be plain and clean; two beds with brand new mattresses; on them folded towels, blankets, sheets, pillows and a list of rules; two alarm clocks, as they would no longer be working on the Academy's set schedule; a closet designed for the storage of field uniforms; and, luxury of luxuries, a bathroom complete with toiletries and a shower. Smitty, classed as a postgraduate student, had been provided with a desk, lamp and bookcase. Dutch, as a Reaper, would do all his writing in the office. Smitty shelved his books, dropped his bag on a bed, and said, "First things first! Spectacles. You've a tricky prescription so let's get over there before they get tired and clumsy. It's just across the street." 

* * *

"Ah, Mister Ten Hagen! Congratulations," said Lawrence Anderson, Director of the Spectacles Division. "How is your current prescription serving you? Excellent, but we will check it carefully. Go pick your frames. And Mister Smithfield; ah, postgraduate classes. You, sir, should select a fairly robust set of frames with a lens area covering the whole eye. Scythes trainees need eye protection, even under safety equipment, for the first five years. After that you will come back for an exam and, if you wish, choose lighter frames.

"Mr. Ten Hagen, please follow Mr. Sawyer for a complete workup. I want your prescription to be perfect. Important for a Reaper. Now, understand that I will call you back here in six months. Students often develop an occupational myopia which corrects when they leave their books. I'll send a note to Senior Fitzwilliam today, and a note to you both in six months. Mr. Smithfield, please go with Miss Rockwell."

* * *

Smitty put on his new glasses and looked around the room. "Wow. Edges. Colors. Student glasses are really crap, aren't they?" He looked down at his hands. "Oh. I can _see."_

Dutch, feeling debonaire in elegantly simple wire frames, agreed. "I think these are even better than the pair Mr. Humphries got me last year. Of course those lenses had to go into my student frames, which were bent up from combat training and field exercises. This is amazing. Thank you, Director Anderson!" 

"My duty and pleasure, young man. Remember, six months, or earlier if you experience headaches. Now, off with you. Report to your Mentors. They will need to escort you to Supplies for your field kits. Once you have those, you will be ready to think about your new scythes." 

Smitty's eyes grew wide as he considered a warehouse full of both modern and traditional designs, each more wondrous than all the rest, and all—all!—available for him to study. Dutch laughed and said, "Right. Smitty, I'll see you tonight. Maybe in the Cafeteria, certainly in the dorm. Got your key? Good. When you get your kit, put on the watch right away. Remember to eat. Don't stay up all night in the workrooms. You'll need to store your gear and make up your bed."

"Spoilsport," murmured Smitty. "Right. Dinner. Dorm. Unpack. Make bed. Boring. I can sleep on the floor of the workroom."

Dutch sighed. "Books, Smitty. All your books are in the dorm. You have to come back to the dorm and get some sleep, then take your books to class. If you fall asleep in your classes, your teachers and Mentor will not be happy. They might forbid you the workrooms until you learn to eat and sleep, and then where would you be?"

Smitty laughed. "I would languish outside the workroom door and pine away to nothing. See you tonight, probably after dinner."

* * *

"Ah, there you are," said Senior Collections Agent Fitzwilliam. "Got your room? Nice glasses. Graduation certificate? Excellent. This is your desk. I've your clothing chit here. Fill out this form with all your sizes. The clerks will help with the ones you don't know. Tea? Here. I imagine you missed breakfast. We'll eat once you've been properly equipped." 

Dutch scribbled and sipped at a cup of very welcome tea. "Done? Let's go." Senior Fitzwilliam took Ten Hagen's arm and ported into the Supplies facility with a quick flash that somehow avoided all the other groups of graduates and Mentors. "Tony! Here's my trainee, his form and his chit. Do him up right and I'll owe you a pint."

The papers were passed to a jolly rotund fellow. A couple of extra measurements involving shoulders and arms were taken. While the kit was being assembled, Fitzwilliam took Ten Hagen on a quick tour. "If you get splashed with acid or ichor or anything that makes your skin burn, come straight here to these decontamination showers. Strip and wash down with the soaps provided, then wash down again, then a third time. Towels over here. If they turn brown when you use them, wash up again. The staff will collect your clothes; they'll clean anything salvageable and replace the rest. The Branch pays for your uniform until you decide to buy better suits tailored to your measurements. Any part of the basic kit you don't need goes back to the Branch supplies closet, where anyone can look for emergency replacements. I'm spotting you a pair of knives as backup weapons. This one goes in your vest. This one, strapped to your left arm. You'll be taught their use by myself and Agent Knox. You already know the classes you'll be given before you can go out on the street. Tony? Ready? Okay, Mister Ten Hagen. Suit up."

The new suit was heavier than student issue and a seemed a little stiff. Tony assured him that the stiffness would ease after an hour of wear. His student uniform, second or third-hand at best, had an entirely different feel, thin and limp. He dumped it in the bin provided and put on the regulation flameproof underwear. The shirt was also definitely treated with protective substances. Warm but not sweaty. The vest felt as though it were subtly reinforced, the Schrade Safety Pushbutton Knife fitting neatly into a narrow pocket designed to hold it.

The jacket had similar interior pockets, one specifically for a pair of Record scissors, and a feel of acidproofing. Trousers the same. Stiff belt with a sturdy buckle. The tie had also been treated. The shoes were comfortable enough. The watch was an unfamiliar weight and style, balanced by the knife harness on the other arm. And last, the gloves, never to be removed in the Human Realm. He looked in the dressing room mirror. The threadbare, scruffy student was gone. An armored stranger looked back at him. Ten Hagen looked like a Reaper. And after five years of intensive training he might actually become one.

Scary.

Senior Fitzwilliam looked him over, then handed him the duffle bag with the rest of his kit. "Drop this off at your room now, then return to me here." A test of his porting skills with his student scythe. Ten Hagen ported, kicked the duffel under his bed and returned at once. Fitzwilliam laid a hand on his shoulder and _—dzzip—_ they were in the Scythes showroom.

* * *

Instructor Slingby had recommended he try a scythe of moderate reach, not to exceed his range of vision with his new glasses. "Get comfortable with that and drill with it until you can be sure you won't accidentally Reap something you're not supposed to. You don't want a scythe you can't see the end of, especially with your eye problems. Too hard on the furniture and your partner." 

Power tools would not be permitted him for three years. They were more Smitty's interest than his, anyway. As Fitzwilliam drifted off to the waiting area, Dutch browsed his way down the display racks. A sharp hoe intrigued him, but held at arm's length the head blurred. The pickfork was too short. The pickaxe had the advantage of being very like his student scythe but...not quite right. Maybe the mattock. He took it up to the desk. "Excuse me, sir, could this handle be shortened? My eyes are not quite up to this length. Or could you recommend a similar tool of about that size?"

"Ah. Please hold it out at the proper length for your comfort. Can you see the head clearly? Move your grip up the handle until you can, then. Now? Good. Try this pick mattock. A foot shorter at thirty-six inches. Can be used both single and double handed. Swing that. Well inside your field of view? Now rest it on your shoulder. Comfortable? We can supply a shoulder pad to sew inside your jacket if necessary. 

"It will feel very like your student scythe, a bit heavier, and both the pick and the blade will want sharpening weekly depending on use. Comes with a maintenance kit, of course. Or this cutter mattock; axehead instead of pick. Also very like a student scythe, so you won't need to unlearn the moves you already use. Same set of muscles used, which will save you considerable discomfort as you adjust. These mattocks can do damage on both strike and backswing, handy in a fight. Overstrike protection. Nice non-slip handle for a better grip if covered in ichor or blood. Resurfacing recommended every three to five years depending on wear. The heads and handles are standardized for easy replacement, but let us do the attachment or you'll have them flying apart at the most embarrassing times. Ports very accurately, where longer scythes can pull to the left after a decade or two and have to be rebalanced. Step over here to the practice area and perform a drill, then port back and forth across the room."

Dutch worked with both weapons and settled on the cutter mattock. It seemed just slightly better balanced and fit perfectly into his hands. He brought both back to the counter. "This one, sir, please. Here's my graduation certificate."

"Excellent choice. Call your Senior over here, please? Agent Fitzwilliam, are you willing to allow your trainee to take part in an experimental trial? We can place a tracker on this scythe, very like the one in your glasses. It can be traced by the London Lab in case of loss, but only if the trace is requested."

"Interesting. You'll be able to track glasses, scythes and the detector in an emergency, then?"

"If requested. The idea is not to have lost scythes lying around, nor lost trainees either."

"Is that all right with you, Trainee? Fine. Please add him to your study. Can it be done now?"

"At once, sir. No charge, of course. In an emergency, request tracking from the London Lab by his name. They'll trace all three items and report the locations. I will file the paperwork at once, but it will take the Lab database a couple of days to catch up with registering all the graduates' new equipment. Keep him out of trouble until Monday, if you will."

"No problem. London Trainees won't see the streets for a month. D'you think this tracker will be rolled out to the Seniors eventually?"

"We'll see how it works. Right now the Trainees are more likely to need it. Tracking everyone would require a substantial increase in staff, you see. I believe they've already started recruiting some additional Monitor trainees."

Once again Senior Fitzwilliam laid his hand on Ten Hagen's shoulder. They appeared in the Dispatch entryway and walked back to Fitzwilliam's office. "Very well, Mr. Ten Hagen. Except for a detector, which you will not receive until you begin street training, you are fully outfitted. Keep yourself neat at all times. My partner's a stickler for appearances. He's also terribly upperclass and rather formal, and a ferocious fighter with a lot to teach you. Don't offend him if you can help it. Questions are always allowed. Foolishness isn't. Have you eaten today? You look a little transparent. Suppose we go to the Cafeteria, they'll be serving dinner now. You'll be in remedial classes for a month, and after another two months of street Reaping we'll discuss registering you as our Junior. That will be your last chance to easily transfer to another Mentor or another Division, if you decide that this arrangement isn't working for you. Understood?"

"Completely, sir."

"Excellent. Let's eat. I will then free you to settle into your new housing. Your classes begin tomorrow morning at eight. Here's your schedule and some materials for you to study. Roland and I work second shift, so we'll join you at three after your Demonology lecture. You will spar with us and anyone else who’s around the office. First lesson; never miss an opportunity for a meal or a nap."

* * *

Smitty reported to Scythes, asking for Engineer Crawford. He was escorted deep into a huge workshop filled with marvelous machines, tools and parts. "Ah, Trainee Smithfield! So early! Welcome to my workbench. You'll be sharing it with me for some years. We'll set you up right over there for now. They kicked you out with only the clothes you're wearing, didn't they, the cheapskates? Let's get you set up with the proper protective lab wear. Supplies already has a Mechanic's Kit started for you. Ready to go pick it up?" He laid a hand on Smitty's shoulder. _—dzzip—_

The kit was nothing like the one given to Reapers. There were four sets of gloves, heavy and long, to prevent burns. There was a whole box of thin rubberlike gloves. There were ten sets of plain trousers and shirts and underwear, and ten fireproof lab coats. Safety shields to be worn over the face. Two pairs of canvas shoes with rubber soles. A basic toolkit, all his own, plus a few extras that his Mentor requested as necessary to his current projects. Books filled with mysterious diagrams and charts. Like Ten Hagen, Smitty was directed to surrender all his student clothing and dress entirely from his kit. The clothing was new, comfortable, and cool, allowing a free range of motion. 

They returned to the workshop. "Hang up your lab coats and protective gear over there, please. This cupboard has shelves for your regular clothing, you'll want to keep most of it here. We can go through two or three sets a day when working with something volatile. Take this pen and put your name in everything. Mark your toolkit as well, to keep people from borrowing from it. We have very strict rules about borrowing tools. That's in the red booklet there. Read it as soon as you are done labelling.

"You will finish each day by stripping off all clothing into the laundry basket in the shower room. You don't want to sicken your dormmates, you see. You'll be working around some pretty nasty substances and materials. Shower thoroughly and put on a fresh set of clothing. The shower's that door over there, technically intended for chemical spills and allergic reactions, but always available at the end of the shift when you need to change clothing. Your two pairs of shoes should be worn on alternate days. That gives them time to dry out between wearings. This box has paper booties to wear over the shoes every day. Discard the booties and rubber gloves in the shower wastebaskets. Never reuse them. Keep one set of clean street clothes back in your dorm for emergencies, but don't run them through the dormitory's laundry service."

Smitty began writing his name into his lab coats. "When's the clean laundry delivered, sir?"

"Wednesdays and Saturdays, here, about nine in the morning." Engineer Crawford returned to his bench, donned an odd helmet with a flip-up face protector, and began working with small strange fiery tools on a flat doodad which Smitty could not identify. He continued his labelling in a companionable silence. Once finished, he then took up the red booklet, which was the _Code of Conduct for the Engineering Laboratories_. He read it carefully, making a list of notes where the rules concerned terms he didn't understand and machines he'd never heard of. He looked over at his Mentor, who seemed to have completed his work.

"Excuse me, sir, finished. I have some questions about the Rules, though, some of them refer to things I don't know about yet."

"Oh, of course. Basically, don't steal tools or ideas, ask before you touch, don't startle somebody mid-task, stay far away from big rumbling machines until somebody can explain 'em to you. Try not to start fires. Keep careful notes on everything you do. Never bring food or drink into the workroom. Your healing abilities will get a sufficiently vigorous workout without adding ingested toxins. Explosives, gasses and radioactive materials are confined to the Stinks and Booms Lab. They have special shielding. Be polite to everybody because even the cleaning crew are specialists who outrank you. We'll walk through this workshop tomorrow after your classes.

"Now, do you have your class schedule? You've a fine natural talent, but you will never achieve your full potential without a sound understanding of the theory behind the designs. You will be learning stuff the Human Realm won't get for quite a while yet. We'll go over your classwork daily. I'll happily help with anything you have trouble mastering."

"Thank you, Engineer. I can't wait to learn."

"Then learn this, Trainee Smithfield. In this laboratory, a lack of understanding will kill you just as dead as any Demon. If you don't know what it is, don't touch it. If you don't understand what it does, don't touch it. If it looks perfectly harmless, it probably isn't—remember, we are building scythes here. If you must touch something, wear rubber gloves and keep one hand behind your back. Ask questions all you want. Several times, if necessary. Your first responsibility is to master everything covered in your classes. The second is to learn how to use all these tools. Your third responsibility will be to aid me in my work as soon as I deem you competent to do so. When I think you are ready, I will help you to design and build your own simple scythe. From that day forward, you will never have any personal scythe but one of your own construction. Trainees can become Senior Reapers in five years. You may be an Engineer in ten. You will never stop learning, even as I have never stopped. For us, there is always something new to try. Perhaps this is why Artificers seldom go mad. Of course, when we do, it's usually spectacular.

"Would you like to go through your new tool kit with me?"

"Yes, Engineer Crawford! Please!"

"Wrong answer. I can tell that you're worn out; you wouldn't remember half of it. Working with scythe metal and power tools requires alertness and concentration. Here's some rules to last you all your days. Sleep at least six hours in every twenty-four. Eat two full meals every day, and three if you can. You will take at least two showers with soap daily, morning and end of shift, because cleanliness is vital in many of our manufactures. Also I won't allow you to distract me with bad smells. If you do not eat and sleep properly, you will not retain your lessons and you will be severely injured in your work due to slowness or sleepiness. You will exercise daily with the other trainees, using dummy scythes of new and different designs. You will consider how each design might be improved.

"So. Let's try this again. Would you like to go through your new tool kit with me?"

"Um. Sir, I have not eaten or slept since yesterday and might not profit fully from your instruction? Sir?"

"Good kid. Let's go eat. After dinner you'll go on back to your dorm, settle in, sack out. Take your duffle bag. We'll review your toolkit before your first class tomorrow. Meet me at the door of the Cafeteria at six for breakfast."

* * *

Trainees Ten Hagen and Smithfield arrived at Junior Housing together. Wordlessly they stumbled up the stairs to their room. Smithfield dropped his duffel on his bed. Ten Hagen pulled his duffel out from under his bed. Both put their belongings away in their closet. 

"You're looking good, Dutch. I do believe I'm rooming with a Reaper."

Dutch hung up his suit coat and vest, stripped off his watch and wrist knife. "You look like a Scythe master. I'm impressed."

Both made up their beds. "Oh, that looks good. Horizontal is good. I want my pajamas and I want to lie down."

"When do you have to be up, Smitty?"

"Five-thirty, eating breakfast with my Mentor at six."

"That's good for me, I have some handouts to read before classes begin at eight. I'll set my alarm clock."

They turned off the light. They climbed into their beds and sighed.

"They said we weren't students anymore."

"They lied."

"Happy, Smitty? I'm happy. Scared but happy."

"Happy. Never been so happy."

"G'night, Smitty."

" G'night, Dutch."


	23. Midsummer's Eve 1905

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Ravening, this time in Ireland, but it hardly counts. Really.

In his cluttered office, amidst stacks of paper, Alan drank coffee and made lists. 

A gift for Eric, something he would use every day. Something small, useful, lightweight. No time to shop now, maybe during the lull in early winter before the holidays... 

Trainees to match to mentors, mentors to trainees. Promising students entering their last year, for internships. A few students who would not be good choices for dangerous, diverse London, but who might do well enough if they began their careers in in quieter venues. A few struggling students needing tutoring; find others willing to help them for extra credit. Slide some discussion of Angel/Reaper relations and cooperation into one of his lectures. And find out what was going on with that underclassman who was always nodding off in class. Was he stealing soporifics from the school nurse? Bullied in the barracks? Running a floating crap game all night? Smuggling in alcohol? Allergic to something? In an emotional crisis? He and Eric needed to sit down with the kid. See if he could be saved.

His Department should be divided into groups. ffoulkes and Brock needed to be made Section Managers of Documentation and Bookkeeping. Will would grant the titles where he would not grant early promotions. He would understand the need for the extra measure of authority in those positions; Admin was exceedingly rank-conscious. Brock and ffoulkes had to deal daily with Admin Seniors and needed titles to give them consequence.

The first group of Admin clerks hired by the Operations Management Department were older than the Reapers they were assigned to assist. They were also, time-wise at least, senior to Alan. They held him in contempt and despised the Section Managers. Their efforts to undermine their bosses and each other had quickly driven Alan into a complete conniption, now permanently part of the branch and office lore. He had discharged all of them back to Admin as 'unsuitable to our needs,' which was slightly less damning, if less accurate, than 'scheming, vicious, insolent and lazy.' 

He chose their replacements carefully. Four were bullied juniors who were not doing well in Admin's cutthroat corporate culture. One more was an expert at the Rules, senior but passed over for promotion and ready to jump at any opportunity to exit her dead-end job. They all proved to be good workers who were anxious to stay with the Branch. 

Scheduling would remain in Alan's hands until he could find a Senior Reaper to help. That would be a good post for someone with slow-healing injuries. The desk work would quickly become a motivation to get back into the field, insuring a turnover of people with current knowledge of conditions and areas. Careful oversight, watching for anyone accepting or requesting favors or money in exchange for favorable shift assignments. Perhaps a rotation of six trusted Reapers, serving for two months each? Could this be an assignment for the office managers? Maybe, if they also were actively Reaping. Brandon and Anders were improving, according to their partners...

Brock would help with the next budget. By then his assistants could be trusted to cover most of his other responsibilities. Remember to consider requesting another adding machine for Bookkeeping at that time...

This office picnic was going to be far larger than the previous one. Several Divisions had offered upgrades, enhancements and labor in return for general invitations for all their people. Game equipment would be provided, but that would be unannounced; Alan wanted mixed-team pickup games as opposed to teams organized by the Divisions. The whole purpose was to enhance cooperation, not rivalries. 

The Cafeteria reported that the Scythe and Skull wanted to set up a tent serving ales, stouts, and beers. They would pay a percentage of their sales to the Cafeteria, which the Cafeteria would deduct from the Branch's bill for staffing and supplies. Alan considered that carefully and approved it with one reservation. It would be the Cafeteria's duty to see that the Scythe and Skull did not overserve their customers. Alan would talk to the pub's owner about that as well.

Introductions of all new trainees and Interns; recognition of new promotions. Remembrance of those lost in battle. Two partnerships, one from Glasgow, wished to exchange vows at the bonfire. Scythes offered toasting forks and marshmallows, with assurances that the metal used in the student-manufactured forks was harmless.

Next year this was going to become far more than a mere Branch outing. Other Divisions would have to help with the planning. He'd think about that when he had time.

* * *

Will was dithering about the guest list. Acquaintances would form between all groups; by midnight there would be friendships and closer connections. Will was worried about that. Angels were beautiful. Angels could switch genders. Grell had an eye for a well-set-up Angel. To Will, Angels were trouble. He wanted neither hanky nor panky on his watch. He cornered Alan and Eric in the break room.

Alan tried to reassure him. Eric seized the opportunity to tease. "Will, we are Reapers. Remember? Reapers are sterile. Any pregnancies will be Angel on Angel; not our circus, not our monkeys, not our business. For the rest of it, they're all adults. Leave them be."

"Eric!" protested Alan.

"Some Reapers may be seduced by Angelic beauty!"

"Will!" protested Alan.

"Ach, Grell teases and flirts to make them squirm, but it's you she loves. Let her play a little. She's a lady. She'll go home with the man who brought her. Ye did ask her to meet you there, right? Best not to make assumptions."

"But..."

"No buts, Will," sighed Alan. "Go arrange to meet her there. Otherwise she'll arrive with Ronnie after first shift and consider him her escort. He'll chase off after the first pretty Admin he sees. Iris will meet up with Roberts and Harmon. It'll put Grell in a sulk, and she'll plot mischief. Much better that you arrange in advance to meet her there. That way Ronnie gets left, not her, and that's important to her and therefore to us."

"Also, Angelic entanglements among the Juniors leads to neglect of duty..."

Eric snorted. "C'mon, Will, we're different species. The signals are all wrong. The pairings won't last. Don't ye know the sergeants have been telling all their Angels not to get too attached to so short-lived a creature as a Reaper? And hasn't Alan been teaching our kiddies not to become the pets of slumming immortals who think tomorrow is twenty years from today? Won't hurt to have one or two object lessons in why cross-species canoodling is a bad idea. They'll get over it."

"Both of you, stop it," said Alan, setting his coffee mug down a little harder than necessary. "This picnic is not and will not be an orgy. Will, do you honestly think I would permit it? Go make a date with Grell right now. Eric, you're assigned to spoilsport duty from dusk until the party's over." 

Will and Eric glanced at each other. They agreed on many things, and Alan's temper was right at the top of the list. Will went off in search of Grell. Eric, being a man of good sense, raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, me love, but Will's such a tempting target." 

Alan poured more coffee. He was too tired for this. He still had all that graded homework to review. Academician Pollard was filing a complaint about some of the information he was adding to his lesson plans. Poor old fossil, completely out of touch with the world outside his office door. The Board would uphold Alan's changes, but it would soak up time he didn't have to spare. He took his mug and trudged out of the break room toward his office. 

Aha. _I spy, with my weary eye, an under-employed intern ripe for the picking._ "Mister Howe, come with me. I want you to batch up all the stacks of paperwork lying around my office. All chairs and flat surfaces get cleared. Floor too. Use Meeting Room B if you can't find enough table space here. Sort them by type, subject and date. Ask any questions you need, I'll be working right here. When you are done, go find Fenner in ffoulke's office. Help him truck it off to Admin for storage. I'll buy you a pint at the Scythe and Skull if you shelve my ledgers too. Oh, and please have Fenner request a couple of bound blank books, narrow ruled, suitable for scheduling, catalogue number L-33. He'll know what I need."

* * *

Eric came off second shift at midnight. He checked Alan's office out of habit. There he was, fast asleep at his desk, which was clean except for the open ledger under his cheek. The chairs and tables and bookcases had been excavated, and all the floor was clear. Must have brought in a backhoe. The office had been swept except for a narrow area around the sleeping Reaper. Maintenance was used to Alan's work habits. They'd probably dusted him, too...and...polished him? No. The travelling pot of scar cream was by his hand. He'd been good about using it. The scars were nearly gone.

"Alan-me-Light, it's time to go home."

"Nrrrnmph, whazzit? Leemeelone. Go 'waylemmesleep..."

"Own bed is best. Come on, up you get. Lean on me, love. _—zzipt!—_

"Jacket off. Glasses. Now shoes and socks. I've your bolo. Shirt off. Trousers now. Pajamas. Under the covers, there ye go. Ye're working too hard, me little man. I'm going to take you away for an afternoon once the Midsummer Picnic is over. Somewhere pretty and lonesome by the sea. We will sit and be quiet, listen to the waves, and rest."

* * *

The Midsummer's Eve London Branch picnic had become a Gather; a Festival; a Bash, depending upon who was describing it. Several Divisions had set up pavilions and marquees for shaded seating. All contributed to the common food area, which was the particular purview of Maintenance and the Cafeteria. Long tables and folding chairs were provided. Maintenance Juniors scurried everywhere, picking up used plates, glasses and utensils for the Cafeteria Trainees to wash. They took great pride in the constant supply of clean tableware and fresh food.

One of the Scientific departments had brought in charcoal grills. They offered char-broiled meats, barbecues and roasted vegetables cooked to order. An admiring crowd lined up with plates, then went back to the tables to make ecstatic humming noises. 

Another Scientific department had proudly provided refrigeration units for the uncooked ingredients and cold collations. Two freezers even held ice and ice cream. There was much professional interest in the generators that powered them. Large, forceful Seniors guarded them and handed out descriptive flyers to keep the Scientific Juniors from disassembling them to see how they worked. 

Collections had provided their celebrated multi-cultural offerings from various pubs, restaurants, stalls and handcarts all over the greater London area. Cafeteria Seniors reviewed them all, looking for new recipes which could be cooked in large quantities and added to their menus.

The Garrison Angels had arrived bearing nectar, ambrosia and pizza. They stood about looking uncomfortable for a minute until the mixed Reaper-Angelic Monitors welcomed them and eased them into the general population. The nectar and ambrosia went into trays of ice, next to the white wines, ciders, shellfish, chopped fruit and great bowls of iced fruit punch and lemonade. The pizza vanished immediately into anyone who knew what it was. Garrison and Monitors split up into small groups to taste the various human comestibles and join in the many games in progress. Likewise, Reapers from Scotland and Wales appeared, and even a few from Ireland. 

London interns and trainees patrolled the area for students trying to sneak in from the Academy. They knew exactly who was still in school and not entitled to join the party. Some Juniors accompanied them to lend additional authority. By noon a few teachers had arrived as guests. Alan had extended a blanket invitation to the academics, many of whom hadn't been out of the Academy for decades and badly needed some exposure to the outside Realm. Jealously, unwilling to share even a tiny bite or sip of the wonderful food, they too watched for students trying to sneak in.

By mid-afternoon everybody was having far more fun than they had expected. At four o'clock, second-shift Reapers were replaced by those coming off first shift. The Angels listened with interest to the handoff reports and briefings.

"Storm off Truro, high wind and driving rain, watch out for slick surfaces when fully manifested."

"Minor ground-shifting in the coalfields, lots of shouting but no fatalities scheduled, don't worry about it."

"We found a single class-three minor demon prowling Soho and ran him off. Watch for him, I don't think he went far."

The Garrison found themselves paying special attention to the reported conditions in the areas they patrolled. Reapers and Angels sharing duty areas were becoming better acquainted.

"There's a warehouse fire near the docks, Charlie. Nothing in the Death list yet, but there are lodging houses nearby." 

"Thanks, Gerritt, I'll keep an eye on it. Go try the grill-and-barbecue tent. It's wonderful."

"Would you like me to confine that fire, Agent Fancher, keep it from spreading?" suggested an Angel.

"That would be most helpful, Corporal Malachi. I'll come along with my Death List. As long as it doesn't update, we can't be accused of interference with the Will of the Highest. Don't want you to get in trouble. Jonas, I'll join you and Mitch after we check out the fire."

* * *

At six o'clock the Irish Reapers suddenly came to attention. "Alarms in Cork. Anybody ready for a punch-up?" Now there was a silly question. The Angels and Reapers left _en masse_. The punch-up was therefore a very short one, even though at least twenty-five demons were involved. Almost everyone got in a hit or two before returning with great satisfaction to the Gather. A few Angels from the local Irish Garrison came along out of curiosity. Alan called all the combatants to a quick debrief. Everybody complimented everybody else. Alan immediately released them before anyone could get to the 'however' stage, and they all wandered off in high good humor to pick up drinks and nibbles.

The bonfire was lit at full dark. This year the seaside Reapers brought driftwood to add to the pile. It added a beautiful blue color to the flames. As before, Alan laid bundles of rosemary around the fire to perfume the air; rosemary for remembrance, that its perfume might always recall this night, these partnerships, this happiness. Two pairs of Reapers exchanged vows, which the Angels found very affecting in beings with so brief an existence. Will stepped up before the flames and read out the names of this year's dead. 

From the other side of the fire, Eric Slingby, the oldest London Reaper present, called out into the night.

 _"As for man, his days are like grass;_  
_he flourishes like a flower of the field;_  
_for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,_  
_and its place knows it no longer."_

All Reapers raised their drinks and said, "To absent friends!" The Angels replied, "To absent friends!" and wept. 

"Sentimental bunch," said Knox. "They didn't know any of them."

"Ach," said Eric. "They are true immortals. They forget how temporary we are. To most of them, the human realm is just God's ant farm. We're the ant farm's cleanup crew. Now that they're beginning to know us as individuals, they are remembering about loss. A few of the oldest ones may be remembering the Fall, where they lost friends of their own kind. Pity them, Ronnie. They've hard times coming and hard lessons to learn."

* * *

At midnight second shift handed off to third shift. Second shift paid visits to the Scythe and Skull's tent for a well-earned pint. At two o'clock the breakdown began; at five o'clock the field was clear and clean. Eric found Alan doing one last check on the site. "C'mon, Alan, you're back on duty in three hours. You need a nap." 

"Hardly seems worth it. I'll manage. Listen, that fight in Cork; any survivors among the invaders?"

"One, I think. Took one look at the welcoming party and left. At a guess, he wasn't fully bound. Carelessness, maybe. Why?"

"His report. Our huge immediate bipartisan response. Might change their tactics or targets. Not that a sudden complete disappearance of a large attack group wouldn't have the same effect. I need to think about that later when I'm not so tired. It was a good Gather, wasn't it?"

"Aye, it was. Next year ye'll need to get help from some of the freeloading Branches."

"Having enjoyed themselves today, I think they'll be willing to pitch in next year. D'you think we'll need a larger venue? We can expand into the next field, but it's too uneven for pavilions or football or cricket. Might make some fairly challenging golf or croquet grounds, though."

"Bed, Alan. Now. Ye're staggering. I'll get your student assistants to take your morning lectures. Your Juniors and Clerks can cover the office. Do not make me bring Will into this."

"Will would tell me to get back to work. You know, I really don't feel very well. Must be tired. A little. Um, lecture notes for tomorrow in center desk drawer, schedule complete through next week. Warn them not to sign anything that involves Admin. Especially if it appears suddenly, is full of fine print and declared to be urgent; it'll be an attempt to get around something I've done. Or will do. Sneaky bastards. Tell Will I'll work second shift. As if I wouldn't anyway."


	24. Simple Gifts

_August 1905  
_

A remote location overlooking the sea. The bell heather in full bloom. Alan sat still, a shadow within a shade, building a memory to keep when all else was lost. Sun and thin soil and the stubborn persistence of life. Ephemeral beauty. His partner dozing by his side.

More and more, Alan's duties kept them apart. An added class at the Academy. Students needing extra help. Increased responsibilities for his Department, with never quite enough staff to comfortably cover the work. He tried hard to keep regular hours with a Sweep team, but so often there was office work that had short deadlines. It was as though circumstances conspired to keep him at his desk or teaching. It was all very necessary, of course. He was not required to like it. But he had made a vow to guard and protect his partner. He was failing in that promise. Twice he had suddenly known that Eric was in danger, had ported to his side, and after the fight had been upbraided by Eric and rebuked by Will.

Good fights, though.

How could he protect his partner from a distance? He made sure that Eric's detector went straight from pocket to charger and back, kept him fed and rested and happy. It was not enough.

He had to find Eric better weapons. For everybody, a better weapon. He could check with Scythes for any new development. But there wouldn't be anything new, not really. Just variations on the same old themes. There had never been anything new, not for centuries, and Reapers were dying because Hell was not restricted in its weapons or strategies. There had to be a change, a legal, accepted change, or Reapers would die in their thousands around the world. And Eric would always be on the front lines. Somehow Alan had to fend off that onslaught. No matter the cost.

* * *

"Agent D'Acres, may I see you in my office for a moment?"

"Of course, Assistant Director."

Alan closed the door. They sat. "Roland, I have a request for your lovely and terrifying wife. Can she put me in touch with her mentor Elder Attbridge? You may remember he witnessed my vows to Eric last Midsummer."

"I will certainly ask. Can you give me a reason for wanting to see him? I believe he is a very busy man."

"I have a question of legality concerning Reaper procedure and tools. This is to be kept quiet, Roland, there may be consequences from this request, which should not come back to haunt you."

* * *

_September_

"Smitty, can I buy you a drink? Or a dinner outside the Cafeteria? As of today I am officially a Junior Collections Agent. My Seniors are pleased enough with me to finalize my apprenticeship. I think a modest celebration is in order."

"Congratulations, Dutch! That's great. I will be raised to Junior status next week if I don't explode anything I'm not supposed to. Engineer Crawford believes I'm not a total waste of space. I'm doing well in my classes and he'll even let me hold the tongs when he needs a third hand. He says this is pretty good for a beginner."

"Congratulations to you too. Where shall we go to celebrate the incautious optimism of our superiors?"

"How about the Italian place? My celebration too, so I'll chip in. Caesar salad, lasagna and tiramisu, and one glass of red wine for you? I have a workbench session before early classes, so suppose I drink the lemonade and do the porting."

"Perfect, as long as I finish the wine before eight o'clock. We're working first shift tomorrow. Let's go!"

* * *

_October_

"Excuse me for calling, Captain Artois, I know you are busy. Do you know of any Ravenings, anywhere, since the Midsummer Gather?"

"No. Not a word of incursion anywhere in Great Britain. It has been quiet, hasn't it? Should I have someone look for reports in other countries?"

"I don't want to make work for you, sir. It's a change, that's all. A break in their patterns. Makes me wonder what they're plotting. Sorry, must go, emergency in the outer office. Thank you."

Alarming, unnerving, clever little man. France, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany?

* * *

The phone rang. Alan disentangled himself from his pen and ledger. "Operations, Humphries speaking."

"Mr. Humphries, you worrisome man."

"Oh, dear. What now, Captain?"

"Ravenings, many small ones, in several Western European countries. Beginning in the first week of July. Azrael is sending his delegates to those in charge of the major garrisons. He is in a foul temper, but most fortunately he is not angry with the two of us. Any more little coincidences or possibilities you want to mention?"

"Has he considered lightly populated border areas, with little coverage from Reapers or Angels, which could be battlefields someday? Other continents? They will also be involved in whatever's coming. Bubonic plague has died down in San Francisco and Johannesburg but has appeared in Mandalay and Bombay. Can Hell reach up timelines for technology like the Monitor Angels can? Has Hell started creating token incursions to attract attention away from their main targets yet? What effect do the Research firearms have on Angels? Were any actually passed to Hell? Could they have started their own manufactory? They're not stupid."

Silence for a moment. "Mr. Humphries. You are giving me food for nightmares. We owe you for the warnings. What can I give in return?"

A pause. An almost audible decision.

"My partner is a warrior. More and more, our duties keep us apart. I cannot be at his side to protect him, as I have sworn to do. I want to give him any advantage I can. We are forbidden swords like the Angels wield. But personal knives for self-defense are permitted, as gardening tools, and are forged of steel. A trade, sir? My two switchblades for an Angelic equivalent of a similar size, in the same material as your flaming swords, to be a gift for Eric at the winter solstice? Is that possible?"

Another silence. "I shall investigate. If you favor switchblades and folding knives, then logically our sword metal should work in those designs. If such a thing is possible, I will trade you, one knife for one knife. Will you give me one to take to our smiths? Perhaps our own soldiers could use such a design."

"Can you meet me in two hours at the Scythe and Skull? I will show you what I have."

Artois appeared at the Scythe and Skull precisely two hours later. Humphries was waiting at the door. They took a table at the rear of the room. Humphries bought Artois a pint of the best, and as he was on duty, tea for himself. After they were comfortably settled he drew a box from his briefcase. He opened it to remove a harmless-looking wooden knife hilt from the box's velvet lining.

"Captain, this is the best quality pocket knife that Supplies offers. It's a carbon-steel hidden-blade weapon designed for vest or jacket pockets, or holsters at wrist, ankle, belt or nape of neck. These have bone or wooden blade-encasing handles." He pressed a button. With a snap a vicious 3.5" blade shot from the end of the handle. He pressed again and the blade was gone. "Do your soldiers carry anything similar?"

Artois frowned. "We use fixed blades in boot or belt holsters, occasionally in underarm sheaths on shoulder harnesses that might fit under a Reaper's suit coat. This is an interesting design. Very interesting. Not much protection against a demon, though. May I borrow this? I will return it as soon as our weapons masters have done with it."

"If your weaponeers are like ours, it will be completely disassembled in a few minutes. Please accept it for their amusement, and this one," Humphries pulled another from his briefcase, "for yourself." He smiled slightly. "Eric admires your blades. I hope we can find something he can carry in a pocket."

"I'm sure we can. If the smiths can't produce an Angelic version, I will give you a dagger and my own belt sheath. It's nicely broken in."

“Daggers are offensive weapons and so forbidden to us, sir. We are executed if we are found with such things. Our switchblades are classed as utility knives.”

“Very well, then. Let’s see what we can contrive.”

"Thank you, Captain. I must get back before I'm missed. Enjoy your new toy. Call me when you have an answer for Eric's gift, and I will meet you as soon as I possibly can. Thank you for your efforts."

"And I thank you for yours, even if they cost me sleep. Goodbye, Mr. Humphries."

* * *

_November_

Budget time again. Eric dragged his sleeping partner from his desk and ledgers and took him home to bed. Taking the opportunity to hug Alan close, he noticed the absence of a lump in his jacket. He checked the vest pocket, then the wrist. Alan wasn't carrying his fallback knives.

Maybe he had resigned himself to noncombatant status? No point in gearing up for battle if you were in the office or classroom all day. But stroppy, aggressive, if-it-moves-I'll-fight-it Alan? Could he be entering one of the depressions that Reapers suffered? He wasn't displaying any of the other usual symptoms.

Could they have been stolen from his locker at the Academy gymnasium? Some of the students in this latest class weren't terribly stable. Seemed the school would take anyone who could hear thunder, see lightning, and stand upright. But surely Alan would have complained about a theft. There would have been a kerfuffle in the barracks. All the upperclassmen who aspired to a post in London would have competed to find those blades and return them.

He hadn't thought Alan would ever leave off his personal knives. Maybe it would finally be possible to keep him safe in the bad times. But still. Eric thought a moment, then checked Alan's bedside drawer. The knife boxes were also gone. Now what was the little man up to?

* * *

 _December_  
"...but I leaned too close over the Bunsen burner and frizzed my hair. That's why the haircut. Just as well, really, safer in the lab. My Senior couldn't stop giggling for the rest of the afternoon. And how was your day, Dutch with the new coat?"

"Pretty much as you think. Ichor and acid burns, both sleeves to the shoulder. Just a hungry singleton cruising for souls. Senior D'Acres let me handle it, which is as good as a framed certificate of proficiency from anybody else. Senior Fitzwilliam approved my technique because I didn't get any on my skin this time. I'm still too jumpy to sleep. I'll go down to the common room and have some soothing herbal tea so you can get some rest."

"I'll come too. All my classwork is done and it's been an exciting day. Maybe there's a card or board game we can play. Something boring would be a nice change."

They found Juniors Quirke, Franklin and Cole playing poker for hard candies. Quirke knew Ten Hagen from the office. He introduced Scythes Junior Smithfield; she introduced both of them to Research Juniors Franklin and Cole. Franklin poured out two piles of candies from a paper bag and dealt them in.

"We've been in the Hebrides setting up proper Monitoring stations and persuading the Branches there that they should learn how to use their detectors. You know how it is. Anything new is a lousy idea for the first two weeks. After that it's essential. Great Britain is pretty well covered now."

"We had a little trouble with some of the Garrisons at first," added Cole. "Then a truly scary Archangel named Uriel came 'round and asked them what good they thought they were, ignoring orders from Azrael and neglecting their duties. There were some demotions and transfers to really unpopular posts. Then he visited all the Branches and Monitor Stations and told them he would not tolerate any obstructiveness from anybody. Told everybody how to get in touch with him. One crusty old Senior balked at any change and just—disappeared. Poof. No further questions from the audience."

At the next table, Medical Junior Collins looked up from the magazine in his hands. "I can tell you where he went. He popped up in the Academy Infirmary, reset to Student status. He'll be cleaning bedpans until starting retraining next June. If he can't learn to obey orders he'll be assigned to one of Supplies' assembly lines. One of the Elder Doctors said Archangels have punished obstinacy this way before."

"Well, everybody else sure started reading the manuals for their detectors," snorted Franklin.

"I've been helping construct the detectors," said Smitty. "I know enough to do a good job, but I'm still learning about how they work. It's fascinating."

"Really?" said Cole. "I thought Supplies would do the manufacturing."

"Oh, they're in charge, but Scythe and Research postgrads who can solder and glue have been assigned to help. Anything to speed up production."

"Good to see cooperation among the Departments," said Dutch. "I know Assistant Director Humphries has been working hard to promote that."

Franklin agreed. "Seems to be getting better, at least at the lower levels where the work gets done. Upper management is harder to persuade. The higher you go, the more jealous and defensive they tend to be."

Dutch turned to Junior Quirke. "Iris, I heard you're thinking about a chainsaw in your third year. Smitty here is apprenticed in a Scythes workshop; maybe he can help?"

"Really, Mr. Smithfield? Because Senior Sutcliff's model is too heavy for me. I'm working out with weights, but it may always be too heavy."

"Well, Miss Quirke, you might look at hedge-trimmers. But not just yet. My Senior says there are new materials coming soon, strong but lighter, and there will be experimental models in about eight months. You will qualify in eighteen months, right? By then there might even be a smaller chainsaw with an electric motor instead of gasoline. If you keep working on strength-building, you may have a surprising number of choices when you reach your three-year mark."

"Will you keep me posted, Mr. Smithfield? And please call me Iris."

"Of course, Iris. I'm Smitty. There are some really exciting new developments in the pipeline. All you have to do is wait for us to put them all together and test the results."

"May I tell Senior Sutcliff about all this?"

"Sure, it's no secret. Just make it clear these are barely at the design stage. Don't let her come to our Seniors demanding changes that aren't available yet."

"She won't. She loves her current scythe. She'll just be interested in the possibilities because it will affect the last two years of my training."

* * *

Section Manager Brock had done wonders, he and his Comptometer Maybelle. The Budget for 1906 was in Will's hands a week early. Once again it was a significant increase on the previous Budget. Alan worried that the last six months of comparative quiet might cause it to be cut significantly. He'd padded it accordingly and discussed his strategies and concerns with Will. For five nights straight he had gone home on time and put himself to bed. It was much more respectable than being picked up off his desk, with ink on his face, and carried through the office over Eric's shoulder.

He was writing out lesson plans for Reaping Technique when the phone rang. It was Captain Artois. They had fallen into a pattern recently.

"Operations, Humphries speaking."

"Mr. Humphries, you worrisome man."

"Come, now. I haven't said a word, Captain."

"Will you meet me at the Scythe and Skull, Mr. Humphries? I believe you should ask for a back room, where we will not be observed."

Oh. The knives. "Sir, if you meet me at the site of the Midsummer Gather I will port us both to a remote city where we are unknown."

"Even better. Half an hour?"

"That will do perfectly."

The Gather site was unused today. Humphries and Artois met in the cold and snow. Alan immediately ported them into an alley in the human realm. From there it was a short walk to a quiet building which offered a dark interior and private booths. "I hope you don't mind. The restaurant is a front for a gambling establishment. The food is good and privacy is guaranteed. The clientele is wholly human."

"Fine with me. Let's order something to keep the host happy."

The food was indeed very good. When the waitress had left them to themselves, Alan said, "I hope that I have not caused difficulties for you."

"Nonsense. I am in no trouble; I have provided our weapons makers with much innocent delight. I have something that may please you." He laid a case on the table. From it he drew one of the boxes that Alan had given him, but the contents were something entirely new.

Alan gently removed the knife from the box. The handle was not a material he could identify, but it was comfortable and would not slip. "May I open it?"

"There will be some light. I asked our smiths to mute it as much as possible, that it might not betray an Angel in hiding. There's nobody here to see it, nor anyone they could tell."

Alan released the blade. A purposeful little _snick_ , no louder than his own would have made. Angelfire bound into four inches of killing beauty. The blade gleamed softly. Beautifully balanced. He closed it and returned it to its box. "It's more than I could ever have hoped for. Thank you."

"Oh, that's just a first attempt, a sample for your own use. You wanted a knife for your partner, whose hands are bigger than yours. He may be using the same model as you did, but I asked our people to forge a couple of pairs suited to Color-Sergeant Bourne, who's about his size." He drew another box from the case. "Bourne says Slingby doesn't wear a vest. This one is provided with a belt sheath, but will do nicely in a wrist or ankle holster."

Three-quarters of an inch longer. A crosshatched bone grip. An almost silent opening. A longer blade of unequalled beauty and strength. A softer light, opalescent. Alan closed it and looked up. "This is incredible. Is it possible for a Reaper to touch the metal without injury?"

"No idea, not having a volunteer to try it. Doesn't hurt us to handle, any more than scythe-metal harms a Reaper who's polishing it; just requires caution to avoid cuts. Burns demons, though." _Snick._ "Wait, stop! You—Don't scare me like that. How would I explain your charred corpse to Madame? Well, now we know it's safe enough. Here's a second one for Slingby; they're traditionally issued in pairs, we're told. Bourne is very pleased with his, by the way. Sends his regards to you both. Here's another of the trial samples, can't have you running about out of uniform. And, oh, look, another. Wonder where that came from. Here's some whetstones and hones. Let's pack them up and you can take the whole case with you."

"Captain, I owe you more than I can say. If there is anything I can do for you—"

"Believe me, we are even. You just keep thinking, Mr. Humphries. Keep thinking and ruining my sleep."

* * *

_Winter Solstice_

"I made a vow I cannot keep. I promised to scout before you, fight beside you, guard your back. Now I must stay behind when you go into danger. I hate it. But we have no choice, either of us, so we will adapt. Eric, these are for you. Wear them every day, and remember me when you see them. Be safe. When you cannot be safe, be victorious."

Eric picked up one of the two knife boxes. He opened it and smiled. "'Tis beautiful, me love. I've never seen one with a bone handle before. And it's long enough for me hand."

"Pick it up and see if it's comfortable. Good? I'm glad. Now open it."

Eric gasped. "What is this?"

"It's an Angel-forged blade. Same metal as their swords. Same rules as scythe metal. Safe enough to handle, but don't stick yourself. Burns demons, or so I'm told."

"Where did ye get this? Alan, what did ye give, what did ye promise for this wonderful blade?"

"For some reason Captain Artois felt he owed me a favor. I gave him my switchblades to copy."

"Aye, so that's where they went. I'll get ye a new set tomorrow."

"Not necessary. Their first experimental efforts were simple copies of mine. I've two of them. Not so nice as yours but perfectly usable. Yours are the second or third versions, sized to your hand, with a couple of improvements to the handles and blades. Street legal for Reapers, but keep them quiet until I can arrange for more. I think Garrison Angels are going to start carrying them soon."

"These are beautiful, Alan, beautiful."

"So they are. Be safe, Eric. This is the only thing I can do to help you remain safe. Well, except to port to your side if you are hurt. Don't tell me not to. It's not a choice."

"This is a princely gift, me Light. How fortunate that I also have a gift for you."

"Really? Take-out dinner? What kind?"

"No, Alan. A real present. Here ye go."

Alan took the gift, admired the ribbon and wrap, and opened it carefully. Inside a velvet pouch was a rose-gold herringbone chain, flat and fluid, to wear beneath his shirt. An emergency fund. Just in case. So that they would never have to remove their rings.

Until Eric told him to.


	25. Ye betrayed me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Countdown: Year Three of Ten. 1906

_January_

Eric had been considered almost a giant in 1471. At six feet two inches, with a sturdy build and a crofter's strength, he had never depended on any weapon but his scythe. Eric's fighting style had originally included a single hidden blade; but long years, depression, and the joy of making Spears fume about his untidiness had caused him to discard the vest. Along with the vest had gone the knife.

The inner coat pocket didn't work. Too loose. When Eric shoved the kitchen table to the wall and ran a few exercises, the knife kept falling out. He picked open the seam at the bottom of the pocket and sewed in a folded strip of suede to form a narrower, deeper sheath. A bit of practice had Eric able to reach, draw and stab in one smooth movement. Showy enough but not truly proficient.

Eric went to Knox. "Ronnie, Alan wants me to start carrying a blade. Not my style, but if it makes him happy I'll do it. Can we spar a bit with blanks? I need a refresher."

"Does this mean you'll start wearing your vest again? Be honest now, are you just tired of Will's nagging about the dress code?"

"No. Here's the sheath." Eric turned back the front of his jacket, displaying the suede sheath with the knife.

"Okay, we'll work with wooden dowels that will fit that sheath. Sew another sheath into the other side of your jacket, okay? A lot depends on whether your right hand is tied up with your scythe. We'll see if you're any good with your left hand. If so, you can fight with both weapons. If not, we'll have to assume that you'll only be using your knife when your scythe's unavailable. Different approach. You can remove the sheath you don't use, or keep it as a backup."

* * *

_March_

Corporal Elihu walked once again around the site of the Ravening. Too many. He counted again. The demonic corpses were disintegrating quickly, but it was obvious that too many of them showed the charring of angelfire. He went to his Sergeant. "Sir, there were more sword strikes delivered today than our soldiers had time to give. One of them was in an area that was defended only by Reapers. I know none of them can carry swords. It's an anomaly and I thought I should mention it."

"Very well, Corporal. I'll deal with this."

The Sergeant went, not Upstairs, but Sideways. "Frank, my corporal made an interesting observation today. It appears that too many swords were present on the field of today's demonic incursion. Too many demons showed charred wounds, and one was in an area that only Reapers defended. Thought I'd come to you first. Any ideas?"

Color-Sergeant Bourne raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Mark him down for promotion. We can always use somebody who is both observant and discreet. Here, Marcus, have a look at this." He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a box. It held something much shorter than the usual dagger, as if the blade had been removed from the handle. Bourne picked up the haft, pressed something. _Snick._

"Oh, my word, Frank. May I..." _Snick. Snick._ "Where did you get this nasty, evil, awful pigsticker? Because I want one. Two. Enough for my whole squad. Wait a minute. A Reaper was carrying one of these? The Great Scot ported in and the demons caught him in a corner with an injured man and...he was carrying one of these, wasn't he, and the extra swordstrikes were his. Is that even allowed?"

"This is a Reaper design, actually, as adapted by our own weapons experts. The original was a gift from London to our Captain. They class it as a utility knife. This one is sword metal rather than steel. The firelight's been damped a bit for covert work. Give the Smiths a week or two and these will become generally available. There is some philosophical dispute about ideal handle materials, I'm told."

"Shall I swear my Corporal to silence? Don't want to get the Reaper in trouble. Their rules are pretty strict and their punishments severe. I'm all for letting him protect himself and his friends. Besides, less work for us."

"I'll talk to the Captain. Let's keep it quiet for now."

* * *

Smitty came home that night to find his roommate in bed, head bandaged. "Dutch! What happened to you?"

"Blindsided. We got jumped by a Ravening. The Angels came in quickly, but they were on the other side of the attack. My Seniors are all right. We got separated in the melee. Demon got behind me and rang my head like a bell. Next thing I know, the Jacobs-Fairbairn-Harmon triad is busting up the demons in the street and Agent Slingby is standing over me yelling insults and killing all comers. I was able to get up and help. Ow. It's pretty well healed but I've a pounding headache."

"Can I get you anything? I can bring in food from the Cafeteria if you don't want to get dressed."

"No, thanks. Still queasy. Listen, Smitty. Is your workshop producing knives with glowing blades? Because Agent Slingby pulled out a knife with a really pretty blade. He stuck it into a demon and the knife burned. The wound was charred. The demon went down and stayed down."

"Glowing? No, nothing I've seen. Burning? No. Maybe some other department is developing something? I can ask my Senior, he talks to everybody."

"No! Don't say anything, Smitty. If Slingby used a non-spec weapon to save my sorry hide, I am not going to expose him. Remember your Ethics lectures. The Higher Ups could scythe and damn him for this, if he's stolen a blade from Heaven. The Angels might have a few words to say about it, too."

"Damn. You're right. Okay. Shall I see if Collins is back from his Infirmary shift yet? He might have something for your headache."

"No, don't bother, I've a pill to take in an hour. But not a word, Smitty, not to anyone. We owe him too much. Your apprenticeship and mine, our internships, all that training."

"Easy, Dutch. Lie back down. You saw nothing. I heard nothing. But I'll keep my eyes open. Might just be an early test of a new model, you know; a perfectly normal field trial."

"Perfectly normal..."

"Experimental prototype. Perfectly normal field trial. If anybody asks. Stick to that."

* * *

_April_

"The Divine Realm is delighted, indeed most grateful for this new design, Madame. Since Mr. Humphries was so good as to offer it to us, we feel it is only right to share the results of our Smiths' experiments with you. We have checked the rules and regulations most carefully, and we find no reason to deny you these tools. It is my greatest pleasure to present to you this fine oaken chest containing one gross of these utility knives. We believe this should serve to supply almost all of your London Reapers. And of course, more can always be requested. Orders may be placed through the London Garrison."

Madame Administrator wondered if Captain Artois had ever considered a career as a snake-oil salesman. Nevertheless she inspected the knives. They were indeed excellent. And if the Angels offered them, how could the Reapers not accept them? Still, a gloss was a gloss wherever found. Captain Artois was selling this just a little too hard.

Therefore; the good Captain was covering for someone. Not one of his Angels; no reason to. Perfectly acceptable weapon for an Angel.

Therefore; a Reaper had already been seen using one of these. By an Angel, who had reported it. Possibly also seen by other Reapers who had remained silent. And Artois had then moved to get that weapon classified as legal for the Reaper to use.

Admitted fact; Humphries gave a switchblade to Artois. Artois passed it to the Smiths, who duplicated the mechanical design and fitted it with an Angelic blade.

Strong probability; The results, probably several examples, were submitted to Artois, who passed one or two back to Humphries.

Therefore; as Humphries was largely confined to desk and teaching duties, the Reaper seen with the knife had to be Slingby. Probably, no, certainly, the knife had been made for Slingby at Humphries' request.

Strong probability; An Angel had reported that a Reaper was using an Angelic weapon, possibly stolen. Artois realized that both Slingby and Humphries were in danger of prosecution by their own hierarchy. He had immediately moved to protect Humphries, his most important liaison in the Reaper realm.

That _sneaky_ little man. Spears had taught him how to plot, and plot well. He had seen the need for a better defensive weapon and had gotten the Angels to build him one. Then, by putting Angel/Reaper cooperation at risk, he'd gotten the Angels to legalize it before the Reaper hierarchy could outlaw it. But had he deliberately endangered his partner? Most likely he had planned to draw all negative consequences onto himself. He did tend to think that way.

She considered. Captain Artois was beginning to look a little worried. "A noble gift, Captain. This has, of course, been approved by Azrael?"

"Yes, indeed, Madame."

"And by the Archangel Michael, as well?"

"One would so assume, Madame."

Assume. Such a dangerous word.

Therefore; as far as Captain Artois knew, Michael hadn't been told. Michael was a bit conservative. He was unlikely to overrule Azrael, but still. She would talk to the Divine Representative, who would inveigle Michael into a friendly game of cards. She'd win that permission and most of his flight feathers to boot.

* * *

William T. Spears, summoned unexpectedly to Madame Administrator's office, looked askance at a large, solidly constructed wooden chest. It held a great number of small boxes. Madame offered him one. Within he found a utility knife, the handle handsomely carved. He extended the blade and nearly dropped it. He quickly laid it on her desk and stepped back, hands behind his back. Even at a century's distance, Academy training prevailed.

"Madame! These cannot be legal for us! Surely they cannot be Angelic? This is absolutely forbidden upon pain of death!"

"These knives were made for us by the Angels, Mr. Spears. Permission has been given by Azrael. Should your partner Miss Sutcliff not have all the protection we can give?"

"But—" But he wanted Grell to have this. Indeed, he himself wanted to have this; two if possible. He wanted every Reaper in every Branch to have a pair of these. At last, at last, an effective, legal defense against demonic attack. Will's internal Rulebook, grown somewhat less adamantine due to three years of Humphries's steady undermining, received a quick edit. With footnotes. "Very well, Madame. One to each Junior, one or two to each Senior depending on fighting style?"

"One, Mr. Spears, one for every active London Reaper. Reserve a dozen for this summer's trainees. Make it clear that any of them who wash out or transfer must return them. Keep any extras to offer to other Directors who express interest. These will be issued to Garrisons as well. Please give one or two to Mister Humphries to pass along to Scythes. The Angels are willing to forge the blades. Perhaps we can speed the process if we provide the handles. These will need to become standard issue to all Branches as quickly as possible."

* * *

"Smitty!"

"Hi, Dutch. You look happy. Quiet day?"

"Siddown, Smitty. Look at this." _Snick._

"Dutch! Oh, Dutch, is that what you saw at the Rav— when you—"

"Every Reaper, even us First Year Juniors, was issued one today. Isn't it beautiful? There had to be fifty Reapers in the office today, every last one of them staring at their knives and flicking the blades in and out. I'd have laughed if I wasn't too busy doing the same thing, with the same expression of childlike wonder. Even Senior D'Acres."

"That fire! Look how it's bound and muted. I can't even—it's beautiful."

"Yes. It is. Director Spears suggested that the Angel-forged blades could be paired with Reaper-built handles. Sharing the cost, you see, and speeding up the delivery to all the other Branches and the Garrisons, since Supplies already has an assembly line for them. And guess what, Smitty? Mr. Humphries came around and gave me one for you. He said you and your Senior should go have fun with it. Tell your Senior that these have been presented to Superiors in Scythes, Supplies, and Research, but Humphries thinks there needs to be at least one at the workbench level. Here you go. Enjoy."

"Huh. You know, we could put a flip-out pair of Records snips in the other end of this handle. Or a bottle opener."

Dutch glared at him. "Barbarian. My knife will always remain in its pure original classic form." He looked again at his blade. "Yours, however? I suggest a screwdriver."

"Well, if it flipped out and locked at right angles, the haft could provide significant torque." _Snick._ "Wow. Incredible. How do they do that? If we can figure out the theory...what else could we bind?"

"I'm for the common room. See how many other Juniors are staring at their new toys."

* * *

There were quite a few of them, and yes, they were all grinning. Even Iris Quirke, who was still mourning her lost Seniors, was smiling. "Hello, Dutch! Aren't these wonderful?"

"Absolutely. Mr. Humphries gave me one to pass to Smitty. His Engineering Senior will be happy as a clam."

"This is beautiful, but I'm worried for my Senior," said Randall Harmon. "When these were issued he seemed hugely relieved. Remember the last Ravening, Dutch? When Slingby saved your butt? There may have been just a flash from his fallback knife. Damn. And Senior Jacobs saw it and said nothing, which will rebound badly if Slingby is executed for using an illegal weapon of war."

"Randall! They wouldn't do that to Agent Slingby, would they? " Iris owed Slingby and was a loyal sort. The prospect of losing another Senior was horrifying.

"You bet they would," Donnie Cole said bitterly. "The minute Slingby's case passed above Spears' level, he'd be doomed. As would be any who had known and not told."

"I can't believe that would happen!"

"That's because you are a Londoner. Les and I have spent the last year in other Branches. You lot have no idea how much you are protected here. There are places operating as if they were still three hundred years in the past, where Junior Reapers are not allowed to speak without permission for their first two years of training. Their Mentors can beat them or kill them out of hand for the first three years, or simply permit an accident to happen for the entire apprenticeship."

Les Franklin nodded. "I, as a second-year Junior, spoke uninvited to a backwater Senior about his demonic detector. He tried to scythe me for my impertinence. One of our Angels broke his nose. It was a short fight. Uriel finished it. There's some basic re-education going on across Britain, and it's not all in the smaller Branches."

"The Higher Ups are just as hard on the Seniors," said Cole. "Remember your Ethics classes."

Chichima Onayemi, First Resident of Junior Housing, top-ranking fifth-year Junior, rapped on the table to get everyone's attention. "Stop this. Our Madame Administrator would defend him, even if he was carrying an illegal weapon. Which, I would like to point out, cannot be proven. A split-second flash is common and expected in a fight where Angels are involved. Possibly it was a reflection of an Angel's swordlight on a common utility blade. Moreover, there is nothing illegal in a weapon that has been issued to every single Reaper in the Branch. Harmon, your Senior is safe. Cole, you are too angry. Go down to the gym and hit something until you feel better. Quirke, Slingby is in no danger and has done nothing wrong."

"Of course not," said Dutch. Bless Onayemi. Bless Smitty. "He was probably testing an experimental prototype, you know. Just like some of you tested the early demon detectors. Perfectly normal field trial before approval for mass production. I wonder what the Engineers will do next."

"Not bad, Ten Hagen," said Onayemi. "All of you. We are London Juniors. Regardless of Division, we protect our own. There will be no more discussion of this topic, anywhere, with anyone. The subject is closed."

* * *

Onayemi had gone to Slingby. Eric had told Alan to wait for him in their apartment after work. It was all over but the pain.

The apartment was dark and silent. In the unlit kitchen Alan sat with his gloved hands folded on the bare table, facing the door, waiting for Eric to come home. Between his fingers ran a fluid rose-gold chain. Over by the door a duffel bag waited. Reapers owned very little, even those most Senior. A Reaper could pack up his kit and move across the country into another Branch's housing in an hour. It was a requirement. There was work and there was sleep; nothing more. Somehow possessions did not matter much. What did a Reaper need that the Division did not supply? Except for some small object that might be sold or pawned.

Carefully he brought to mind a polished and treasured memory. Heather by the seaside. It gave him courage, or at least resignation. It dulled the pain. He was so desperately tired.

Midnight came and went. Eric was off-duty now. He ran the chain between his fingers. Should he take the pot of ivy? Eric would not want it. It was Alan's responsibility, but the Academy and Senior dorms forbade their residents to keep any living thing within their doors; no pets, no plants, nothing that was not standard Reaper issue, for that matter. Nothing, in short, that a Reaper might grow fond of, fight to keep, regret losing. He could put it in his office until Will erased his name from the rolls and sent him away.

Steps in the hallway. He would know Eric's stride anywhere. The key in the lock. The creak of the door. The door closed. Footsteps approaching.

"Alan."

"Here."

Eric came into the kitchen. "Ye betrayed me, Alan. You set me up."

"Yes."

"Ye lied to me."

"No."

"Then explain to me what you did."

"I used you. I have no excuses. If you wish, I will leave at once."

"No." Eric sat down across from Alan. "I want you to explain, clearly and completely, why you endangered me and the sweep team I was with, and the people we went to save. Do not try the smokescreens that Will has taught you, nor the slick little distractions that you use on him." Eric laid his knives on the table. Such innocent-looking things when the blades were retracted.

"Avram Jacobs saw me knife and was silent. Ditto his Junior and the Junior I defended. Today the Junior Dorm's Head Resident told me that six of her kids discussed what happened at that last Ravening. In their common room, where others heard. Two were frightened that the Higher Ups would come asking why I was using a blade ye told me was legal. They've all agreed on silence. Ye know what would happen to them if they were accused of covering up such a crime."

Alan raised his eyes. These things had to be faced. "Your knife was always legal. I consulted with the Elder who blessed our rings. He stated that an Angelic gift made to a Reaper design was perfectly acceptable. He agreed to defend it in any court which questioned it. I explained what I was doing. He approved. He's very high up in Admin and attached to Auditing. His opinion has great weight. He promised to keep you safe.

"Research was right. We need better defenses, which were not being provided or planned. I deliberately manipulated Captain Artois into giving us one. Neither he nor his Smiths saw anything wrong with constructing a utility knife intended for a Reaper's use. They like the design so much that they have thanked us for it. They are providing copies to their Garrisons. This may improve their attitude towards us, even in the more conservative Garrisons which find our existence distasteful.

"None of this would have mattered to our hierarchy above Madame Administrator. They are required to enforce our laws with the greatest severity. They would have forbidden this design, not because it was illegal, but because it was new. We would have died for their inflexibility. I needed to force them to think, to step outside the narrow path they have followed for centuries, to understand what Hell is doing and respond appropriately.

"I gave you a knife that was legal per Auditing. I did so knowing that it would eventually be seen and reported. I expected the representatives of Judicial would investigate. I expected that I would claim all responsibility and go to trial defended by Elder Attbridge. I expected that I would be found guilty of disobedience, insubordination, and deliberate defiance of proper procedure, but that the knives would be approved. No others would be held at fault.

"I expected that I would be executed. I expected that the knives would save countless Reapers in the days to come. I felt my actions would honor my vows to protect you. I considered that a fair bargain.

"I did not expect Captain Artois to step in. I cannot think why he moved to protect me, save that he seems to find me useful. The result, however, is the same. The knives are legal. We can prove they were legal when you used them. The hierarchy must accept Azrael's decree of their legality, which is a small step towards recognizing that change is possible.

"I put you in a dangerous position. I did not explain what I was doing or why. I needed you to be totally unaware of my plans. Totally innocent. It was dishonest, unforgiveable and necessary. If you wish, I am ready to move out. Or I can change my schedule so that we are never home at the same time, if you wish me to continue paying my half of the rent. I will return your gift." The chain pooled on the table, next to the knives. "I do not think I can remove my ring without your agreement."

Alan slipped off his gloves. His ring was dark, inert. _This is what heartbreak looks like._ "Shall I give it back?" Eric's face was stern and shadowed. Alan bowed his head again.

Silence.

"Eric?"

"Quiet. I'm thinking."

Silence. Heather by the sea. Sun and wind and thin soil. The stubborn persistence of life. Eric was removing his gloves. His ring was also dark. Alan heard a sigh from the shadows.

"Alan, did ye not promise to tell me the next time ye started one of these damnable self-sacrificing depressions? I'm going to go smack Will for overworking you. Ye've been doing eighteen hours on, six off, haven't you? Four to five hours of sleep at best? How long has this been building up? Must be, oh, the last nine, ten months, hasn't it. Since last Midsummer. And I, fool that I am, did not see it." Eric's ring glowed, very faintly.

"I will lose my job, Eric. Be banished from London."

"Hah. You should be so lucky. Spears himself presented Grell with one of your knives. She danced with joy, grabbed him and they hugged and kissed right there in front of an entire army of cheering Reapers. No, I think if ye want to get sacked ye're going to have to try a lot harder." Eric reached over the table to take Alan's hands. "Alan, me Light. Always tell me your schemes. They are safe with me, you know it. I will always help in any way I can. I made the same vows you did, before the same Elder, by the same fire. Let me honor them, just as you wish to honor them. Do not doubt my love."

Alan's ring caught fire. An answering flame glowed on Eric's hand. Eric stood, walked around the table and pulled Alan up into his arms. "Ye did the right thing. Nevertheless, ye owe an explanation and apology to Avram and his Junior, and the greenie I protected at the Ravening, Ten Hagen. They kept silent, risking Hell for me. And Onayemi, who also covered for me. Then we will start working you out of this depression. It will be well, my Light. All will be well."


	26. Grell's Story

Smitty presented the Angelic switchblade to Engineer Crawford with great respect. "A gift from Mr. Humphries in Collections, Sir."

"Ah. Heard about these. Very nice to actually see one. Big argument about legality at the upper levels, until Azrael stepped in and told them to start producing these for all hands. Let's have a look." He extended the blade. "Well, I can see why it offended the Uppers. This would terrify them. Hmmm. Ha. So, Junior Smithfield. What do you think of this object?"

"Sir, I would like another ten years of training before forming any opinion on so advanced a technology. I do wonder what other force of nature could be bound to a blade, or to anything we build. But I did have one thought that might ease the acceptance of these as a Reaper's tool." Smitty paused. Crawford raised an eyebrow in query. "Sir, if we set a short, narrow jackknife blade of scythe metal into the base of the handle, then the purpose of the whole construct is Reaping rather than defense. The switchblade becomes merely an added enhancement for the purpose of preventing demonic theft of the soul."

Crawford looked at him for a moment. "Thus protecting your friends from the Higher Ups. Not a bad reason for anything."

"It might even allow them to port - I don't know what the minimum porting amount of scythe metal is, sir."

"Excellent. Suppose you draw me up some quick specs, considering how to add the scythe without weakening the handle. Couple of rough drawings. Consider ease of use versus accidental opening. Look up porting specs in _Tolliver's Moste Excellent Equasions_." He tapped the haft with a fingernail. "Not wood. Not bone. Will the Angels share this? When you're done we're going to go over to the folks who will actually produce the hafts, tell 'em you've got an interesting suggestion. Might actually make them a little more comfortable with the assignment.

"While you do that I'm going to look at this lovely glowing blade that makes me want to smile. Does it affect all Reapers that way? Interesting. Possibly beneficial to a workforce prone to depression. Angelfire bound to steel and forged into a shape. Or bound to a forged blade? Or bound to resemble a metal, then forged? The light significantly suppressed. I'm going to make some notes. When you think you're done, show me your work."

* * *

A rap at the door. That would be Humphries. Spears put down his early-morning cup of tea. "Enter." He settled himself into his sternest mode, appropriate for the delivery of a Judgement on a disobedient, devious, Rule-breaking criminal who had nevertheless performed an act of enormous benefit to the Realm. "Mister Humphries," he began, then looked up to fix a damning eye on..."Slingby? What are you doing here? Where is Humphries?"

"He's writing letters of apology at the moment. Calm down now, Will, we have to talk. Yes, you are going to punish him. He wants to atone for his actions. We need to help him recover while he's doing it. Alan's deep in a depressive cycle. He doesn't have the same pattern that Grell does. He's much quieter about it, and may the Highest forgive us both for missing it. But he saw a problem and solved it, and left himself for dead along the way. Sound familiar?"

Spears sighed. It certainly did. "He's been overworking himself, hasn't he? I thought his staff were keeping up with their responsibilities. I know the Admin adjuncts can be tiresome, but they seem loyal to him."

"The current lot are, and not just because they would rather eat a bug than go back to their old jobs. He took a break after the last Budget, for all of a week maybe, but then we had some problems with students and a professor at the Academy. Distressing and time-consuming stuff."

"I cannot remove him from the Academy. We need both of you there. Madame Administrator is most emphatic on that point."

"Wouldn't help anyway, just depress him further. He's protective of his students. Will, given a chance, he should start an upswing now. Yell at him all you want. Sentence us both to a couple of months' confinement in a remote, quiet rural area. His Academy assistants can cover his classes for that long. I've a couple of fellows who will take my classes as well. His Section Managers can run the office. Maybe give Scheduling to Cortland. She's newly promoted, knows the territory and has no partner yet. It's ten weeks until Midsummer. Tell the other Branches and Divisions to set up a meeting to start planning the Gather because it's now too big for one man to organize. Pick somebody in Operations to manage that, give him a fancy title."

"Any further suggestions on how to run my Branch, Mr. Slingby?"

"Let him rest, Will. He needs to get his feet underneath him. He'll begin his recovery if we can just give him a little peace. I can keep him from scything himself. Talk to Grell, she understands the process all too well. She'll tell you why we want to avoid the drugs Medical would prescribe. You'll have him back before Midsummer, ready to resume his work. With luck the cycle won't repeat for another few years and we'll catch it early."

Will thought for a moment. "Very well. Because we need him, because we owe him, and because we will not fail him. These are your orders, Mr. Slingby. Go tell Humphries he is to prepare his Department to function without him. He is to present his dispositions of responsibilities to me, in writing, at sixteen hundred hours. Meanwhile you will make arrangements with your Academy assistants. That done, go pack up your duffel bags and that potted plant on your kitchen windowsill, and bring them here.

"At shift change, I am going to administer a scolding that will reduce Humphries to a pile of ashes; he expects nothing less of me. I shall inform him that he is now under your supervision. You and your partner will be escorted to the Reaper residence on Tresco in the Isles of Scilly. Your weapons and scythes will be confiscated. I suggest that he spend considerable time in the Abbey Gardens there. You have until Midsummer to rebuild him. I will want reports on his progress weekly."

"Thank ye, Will. When he's stable I'll check in at the Academy to make sure our interns are ready for their final exams and apprenticeships. I'll also select our next crop of interns; I'll send you the list. Can ye get somebody in his Department to send the letters of acceptance?"

"Certainly. The residence is provided with telephone service. You will be able to make your contacts without leaving him unsupervised. I will keep his Department on its toes while he is gone; be assured they will welcome him back with tears of joy. Your assistants at the Academy will likewise suffer my inspection and pray daily for your return. The rest is up to you."

* * *

"Whatever does Eric see in that dull little man? Even his madnesses are boring. He's restful, I suppose. Very short cycle, though. Most Reapers only start screaming every century or so." Grell looked out Will's window. A couple of pigeons looked back hopefully. Will fed them treats so they would deliver messages to his office. 

"I believe he began overworking himself about a year ago. Even his partner missed it."

"Will, darling, I once told you what would happen if you separated them. You've got them both on double shifts when you count in their teaching hours. Alan's been working well into third shift because he can't see Eric any other way. If you check at the Academy, I bet you will find that their schedules there have diverged. Alan's been assigned more classroom teaching and student counselling. You also won't allow them to Reap together. Don't deny it. I know something odd is going on there. Whatever your reason, it's backfiring, dearest. You've gained your pretty knives but you're losing the man."

"Slingby said you could explain why we shouldn't turn him over to Medical as is stated in the Rules."

Grell turned pale. She backed against the door. "Oh, my God, Will, never do that! Would you do that to me again?" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. "Because I will run, Will, I swear I will run where none of you can ever find me, and I will kill any who follow, and kill myself if I cannot kill them all!" She groped for the doorknob.

"Grell! Grell, no! Stop! I would never, I swear! Please, Grell, calm down, sit down, I only ask because Slingby said their drugs were to be avoided. He said you could explain." 

Grell turned a chair to face the wall. "I can't look at you, Will, I can't look at anything when I talk about this, I can't bear to see. Wait a moment, don't say anything."

Will waited, feeling helpless. She sat, her back to him.

"Please don't say anything. Please don't interrupt. I have to get this out, all in one go. Then I have to get drunk. Will, never ever let anybody come to the combined attention of Medical and Judicial. If our misdeeds have consequences, so do your Rules." A pause. 

"If you give Alan into their hands, they will return him eventually. But the thing they send back will not be Alan. It will be an automaton. It will not be depressed. It will follow simple direct orders. It will do nothing else. It will not be able to think or plan. 

"They tried to tame me, Will, and I played the part very well while vomiting up their pills whenever I could avoid their supervision. They get careless once they think you're addicted. I watched what they did to others. Most of them end in Supplies' production lines, doing one simple, endlessly repeated task forever. At the end of their shifts they go back to Medical for their pills. A few are functional enough for Maintenance's office cleaning crews. That's where I finished up my sentence before they sent me back here. I was fortunate in that I was expected to return to my old duties. They couldn't do anything too permanent. They had to take me off the meds so I could think again. It's like your mind has been moved a mile away, somewhere back over your shoulder. It's like trying to think through a featherbed. 

"But that's not all they can do, Will.

"Here's what Eric needs you to know. Because of those lovely knives with their Angelic blades, Judicial will order Medical to make Alan truly, permanently obedient. It won't be drugs. It's surgery. Even Azrael will not be able to fix what they will do to his brain. When he returns, he will be unable to teach or Reap. He might be able to sweep and dust. He'll be very eager to please. He might not even remember Eric's name. Always remember, Will, that Medical belongs to the Scientific Division. So does Research. 

"And I will leave, Will. If you turn him over, if you ever do that to anybody again, I will leave. I will transfer away to the farthest Branch I can. I would never be able to look at you without seeing what they did to me in 1888. And you let them, Mister Self-Righteous William T. Spears. You let them. You thought it was fine. Right and proper. Deserved. Maybe it was. But not for dull, earnest, valiant Alan, who only wanted to keep us safe."

Grell leaned forward to rest her forehead against the wall. "I'm going home. Ronnie and Iris will cover for me. Stay here, Will. Read your Rule Book or yell at your staff or do whatever it is you do for funsies. Leave me alone to put myself back together. A couple of hours and a bottle of our cooking brandy should do it. I will sleep. Tomorrow I will pretend this conversation never happened. So will you."

* * *


	27. Adjusting to the Situation

Harmon took Humphries' letter to his Senior, Avram Jacobs. "Sir, did you get a copy of this? Is it true that everything's all right? It won't go in your record or anything?"

"At ease, Randall. All is well. Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary. I knew that Slingby would never endanger his partner by using a stolen weapon. Because Judicial would have gone after Humphries immediately, you know. They'd automatically declare him implicit in anything Slingby did. And vice versa. They're getting a bit above themselves this century."

"He's gone from his office, sir," said Harmon. "His Juniors are very upset and close-mouthed. Slingby's missing too. Has Judicial taken them?"

Jacobs smiled without humor. "No. Director Spears has moved them to a recovery site. Officially this is a disciplinary action to appease Judicial, but Humphries is simply burnt out. Slingby's caring for him while he recovers. We are patrolling the safe house, making sure they're not bothered. We've seen angels in the area, too. Which means anyone unauthorized who is found there will be invited to explain himself to Uriel. Very short-tempered, is Uriel." 

Jacobs waved a finger in the Attention signal. "Observe, Junior, the joys of office politics. This is why so few Reapers seek promotion. In order to gain new defenses, our Assistant Director has forced change upon a conservative hierarchy. Change is challenging, frightening, threatening. The automatic response is to forbid and repress. To keep Judicial from starting a pogrom, Humphries converted himself into a booby trap. You will note that, gossip to the contrary, Judicial has not actually moved on this.

"Somebody up there is still smart enough, cautious enough, to remember that if they summarily terminate Humphries for an action approved by Azrael himself, Madame Administrator will call in Uriel and Auditing. Artois of the Garrison would be right beside them. They'd go through Judicial's offices like a tidal wave, just as they did at the Academy."

Fairbairn snorted inelegantly. "I will bet Judicial has just repudiated a temporary alliance with Scientific. Research has been after Humphries for years. Auditing removed a bunch of them, but probably not all."

"Sir, will the Assistant Director recover?"

"With rest, he should be fine. Happens to us all. Used to be a lot more common, before Madame Administrator came. Don't let Avram get started on The Bad Old Days."

* * *

Tea, coffee, biscuits and the entire staff of Operations were locked in Meeting Room A. Section Managers ffoulkes and Brock flipped a coin. ffoulkes lost and took over the meeting.

"Okay, everybody. Our Assistant Director is safe and well-guarded. He's worked himself into a collapse, but he will be back in about two months. In the meantime it's all on us. We have to proceed as though Auditing could arrive any minute. That's pretty much what we do anyway. The Documentation Section will cover all incoming paperwork. AA Depoy, can you watch for any Admin attempts to take advantage of the situation?"

Admin Adjunct Depoy put down her tea. "With pleasure. I know all their little tricks and ploys. They'd love to insert one of their own Managers into Mr. Humphries' chair. Send any suggestions to me, no matter how innocent they look."

ffoulkes continued, "It's important that we deal with all the paper same-day. We've permission to conscript interns and to leave all filing to Admin if there's a rush. Make no promises to anyone. Refer complaints to Spears. Section Manager Brock?"

Brock rose to address the crowd. "The Bookkeeping Section continues as usual. Outstanding charges, receipts and expenses to be followed up as soon as due. Thank the Highest we're not in budget season. We're going to have to assume planning for the Midsummer Eve's Gather. A challenge, but not unexpected, as it's grown beyond anyone's ability to handle alone. Spears has appointed Junior Holbert to oversee the planning. Steve?"

Junior Holbert rose. "We're at a disadvantage here; this should be fronted by someone of Senior rank. The Director told me to assume an impressive title to increase my authority. I think something like Supreme Master of the Universe should do it. I'm open to suggestions.

"Spears has agreed that it's time for the freeloaders to start contributing. A general memo under his signature has gone out to all of last year's invitees—Branches, Divisions and the local Garrison. It asks that they appoint representatives to attend a planning session next week. They'll send mostly Juniors. If I can get them excited about it, we can break this up into manageable chunks and throw a really good party."

Admin Adjunct Depoy raised her hand. "Let me see any proposals offered by the Divisions. Especially any subcontracting done by the Cafeteria. They charged a percentage of their vendor's profits last year and conveniently forgot to deduct it from their bill. Very embarrassed when we pointed it out, of course. Steve, individuals bringing in food or equipment must provide receipts to receive reimbursement. No exceptions. Anything over £5 must be preapproved. No hard liquor." She consulted her notepad. "This year we are going to bill back any Maintenance charges for groups which abandon their sites without cleaning up. Please mention that in your meeting."

Brock added, "We are a tempting target until we demonstrate otherwise. We are going to keep a full set of books on this and all future Gathers. AD Humphries was very careful with his budget and outlay records, but he just didn't have time to close them out properly last year. I've done that and filed it with Admin. Anybody who questions the management of this year's Gather will have a complete, Admin-approved, eight-pound accounting binder whacked down on his lap. Please submit minutes of all meetings to me so we can document who promised to do what, when, with which and to whom. I, for one, will not have our Mr. Humphries pestered about it. Agreed?"

The listeners growled their agreement. Brock continued. "You interns will be returning to the Academy in May to prepare for your finals. Upon graduation you will be courted by many Branches and Divisions for apprenticeships. Letters of recommendation have already been sent. We thank you for the outstanding work you've been doing, and congratulate you on your future advancement. For the rest of us, this means we will be thinly staffed for that month. We will all work double shifts as necessary. When the new interns arrive they'll have to learn fast. They won't be fully trained until after the Gather. Pay attention to the Injured list. Recruit anybody who's too banged up to Reap but wants to stay off half-pay."

ffoulkes waved a hand and stood. "Spears has assigned Scheduling to Senior Agent Cortland. It is a duty which properly belongs to an active field Reaper. If anyone tries to bypass her by pressuring you, send them to Spears. If they're dumb enough to whine at him, small loss to the Branch but immense amusement for us. By the way, there appears to be some strain between Spears and Sutcliff right now. Be careful around both of them until they make up.

"Brock and I will now flip the coin again. Loser answers the AD's phone until he returns. Ready?"

* * *

Will stayed late at his desk before eating his dinner at the Cafeteria. The food seemed tasteless, which he was too honest to blame on the hour or the cooks. When he went home that night, he entered the apartment as quietly as possible. The door hinges squeaked a bit, but only a bit. He removed his shoes, hung up his coat and went to the kitchen. The bottle of brandy was on the counter. It was a new bottle, bought only a week ago for a flambé recipe Grell wanted to try. It had apparently filled the small glass on the sideboard only once. Will wondered if that was a good sign. 

Worried, he went to look into the bedroom. Grell was in bed, asleep. Her utility knife, blade extended, rested on her bedside table. She liked to use it as a nightlight. Her clothes had been put away neatly. She had braided her hair before lying down. When she was seriously drunk or drugged, she tended to snore. Tonight she was sleeping quietly and comfortably. 

He gently slid his folded pajamas from under his pillow. In their less settled years, he had gotten into the habit of keeping a bedroll in the hallway closet. He'd slept on the couch as much as he'd slept in bed. Tonight he did not want to disturb her. He went out to the sitting room couch.

As she had frequently informed him, he was absolutely incapable of understanding her feelings. 

But tonight he was trying. What would he feel if he were handed over for torture by someone he loved? Even if he had broken every available Rule? The Rules were sacrosanct. Years upon weary years of obedience gave the only hope of Forgiveness. It had always been his duty to enforce those Rules, which were a Reaper's only chance of avoiding Hell. 

What would he feel if he was helpless before someone intent on destroying his mind? Was a legally decreed behavior modification perfectly legitimate, or was it an inexcusable rape? Were Judicial the defenders of all that was right and proper, or were they...

Monsters. He had given Grell to monsters. If Madame had not explained that the Angels' knives were legal, he would have willingly given Slingby to monsters. And Humphries. They would have taken him, his partner, and everyone who was even in the general vicinity of the Ravening where Slingby used his Angelic utility knife to save a wounded Junior. Humphries had known and accepted that Will would put him under arrest, trusting that Madame Administrator and Artois and Uriel would step in to save everyone else. So that his Grell could have her knife, to protect herself in the days that Slingby believed were coming. 

If Humphries had only warned him! But what would he have done? He would have forbidden it, confiscated the knives, called in Judicial himself. Madame Administrator would not have known the knives were legal. She could not have saved Humphries, or his partner, or the Junior. Or, possibly, Jacobs' triad, D'Acres, Fitzwilliam. Artois's intervention would have come too late. 

Alas for the Realm, whose worst enemies were its own people.

"Will?" Grell was standing in the doorway. He noticed that instead of one of her favorite filmy nightgowns, she was wearing the old flannel pajamas which she kept for when she needed comforting. "Will, are you crying?"

Of course he was not crying. His eyes were watering after a long day. That was all. 

"Oh, Will. May I sit with you? I'm sorry, my love, for falling apart in your office. The memories are still so painful, you see. You won't let them take Alan away, will you? Or Eric?"

He took a deep breath and strove for control. "Of course not. That would be a totally inappropriate response to the use of an Azrael-approved utility tool. Humphries was devious, but not criminal. I have sent him and his insubordinate, untidy partner off for two months' disciplinary confinement in the Scillies. They and I can both use the rest." He paused for a moment.

"Grell, may I have a hug?"

She extended an arm slowly. He was very uncomfortable with sudden contact. She laid it over his shoulders and drew him toward her gently.

"Grell, I am so, so sorry. What I did was unforgiveable. I will never do it again to anyone. I swear."

"Truly, Will? Not even in a temper? Not even when you are outraged? Not without talking to someone first? Because sometimes the situation is not what it seems. I don't mean my crimes, but Alan's schemes?"

"Yes. Truly. In the full knowledge that the little weasel will not only do it again but probably make a habit of it. In the fullness of time I expect he'll simply have a repeating calendar item; Outrage Spears."

Grell giggled. "Twice a year. The office will sell tickets and order in lunch. There will be a newsletter for those who miss it due to their duty schedules. Somebody will start a book on how long you put poor Eric in full uniform to get even."

"I consider it a good day if Slingby doesn't show up in his nightshirt. He threatened once to wear his kilt. Have you ever seen the Clan Buchanan tartan? Above knobby knees? Grell, my love, such terrors are not for the eyes of a lady."

Grell hugged him closer. He hugged back. This was very nice indeed. He tended to forget that. They should do it more often.

"Will, is Madame angry with them?"

"I don't know. She didn't mention it, if so. But they are safe, and she has a way of knowing everything there is to know."

"Thank you, darling. The confinement is actually a rest house, isn't it, you clever man. Because Alan's pretty wrecked, isn't he? After they return, dear, you need to give them more time together or he'll return to borderline depression. Watch for him working eighteen hours at a stretch. That's his tell. Overwork is a symptom as well as a cause. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did."

"Grell, will the two months be enough? I do not understand these things that everyone else finds so obvious. But when they left, he barely seemed able to stand, and his eyes were completely blank."

"Good question. Can't answer. Best guess, he'll respond to rest and the presence of Eric. Probably he'll want to come back to work early. If he's too high-pitched about it he should go back to bed."

"Should I ask that orderly to check up on him quietly? The one who began as a Reaper?"

"Collins? Terrible idea, sweetie. Nice kid, going to be a fine nurse, but he has way too much to lose. He'd turn you down flat and report it to his superiors. Remember that Anders and Brandon blamed him for their injuries, after a demon grabbed his scythe. They were a little too eager for him to transfer. Now he's a third-year Junior with second-year rank. He's not going to risk his current apprenticeship for anything or anybody, especially a Reaper in disgrace. Eric's had over four centuries of experience. Let him deal with it."

"Very well. What would I do without your advice?"

"You'd ask Alan. Keep him around. Another decade or two and he'll be a...Heaven knows what, but he'll be hugely valuable. Sly, stubborn, deliberately colorless so you never notice what he's doing in the background, but valuable. Will, dear, my toes are cold. Can we move this into the bedroom, under the blankets?"

"May I join you? I will understand if you would prefer me to sit by the bed. You were very upset by my clumsiness."

"Yes, I was. Don't do that again unless there is better booze in the kitchen. Here I was, all ready to get roaring drunk, and the stuff tastes awful. Not worth a hangover. I decided that going on a bender would be letting them win."

"Are you all right now?"

"I will probably never quite recover from what they did to me. But I will not be crippled by it. They will never conquer me. Into bed, Will."

"Yes, dear."


	28. Tresco

_weekly status meeting, ffoulkes to Brock over tea in meeting room C_

"Well, the cover letter offered temp workers from May through July. To cover the time between the old interns leaving for exams and the new ones getting a handle on the job, admittedly a problem every year. Sounded really good, so we figured the hook had to be in the contracts.

"Dorrie Depoy went through them. One of them specified aideship to Mr. Humphries with the power to sign for him if he isn’t available. All of the contracts were for full time positions. The word 'temporary' didn’t appear anywhere. No end dates. So Admin would’ve replaced our Head with one of their own, and given him a loyal staff who were all senior to us. When Humphries got back, they’d impugn his ability to perform his duties because he'd had a breakdown.

"We politely declined their gracious offer. When they asked for the return of the contracts and cover letter we informed them that all such tenders are kept in our permanent records. We sent them copies back. They know we're onto them.

"We have the names of all the proposed hires. We have hard evidence of an Admin takeover attempt. We've made several sets of copies to put in various file cabinets. The originals are stored offsite. If we can hold those pirates off long enough, we won't have to ask Spears to step in. Mr. Humphries has a connection in Auditing. This is right up their alley. Admin power games in-house are common and tolerated, but these twitterpates have plotted against an outside Division. Dorrie says that's forbidden because it gets the Higher Ups involved."

_weekly status meeting, Brock to ffoulkes over tea and some of those macaroons—these are great, effie, where do you get them?—in meeting room B_

"Supplies is ready to begin manufacturing knives. Admin wants to take over distribution; huge opportunity to collect bribes and favors during the rollout. Supplies pointed out that they have handled their own distributions forever and will not tolerate interference. They threatened a formal protest, along with a stop of office materials to the Admin storerooms.

"Admin then attempted to gain control of the supply of blades. They were informed by the Garrison that the blades are ordered and delivered through Madame Administrator. Since Spears will assign that process to Operations upon Humphries’ return, we can see why Admin tried to staff our office with its own people. Bastards. I think it's one single group trying to rise in the hierarchy. Give me all those names, I'll try to find out who their boss is..."

* * *

_excerpt from a memo from the Honored Academician and Bursar to the London Branch Director_

...We had quite an interesting conversation recently with Administration Manager Crawleigh. He proposed to rent our west-side training field on the day of your Gather. We of course informed him that the area was already reserved. He pointed out that since we received no payment for that use, he would be happy to allow the Gather to take place while giving us a profit on the event.

We are indeed unworldly academics, inclined to an ivy-covered innocence of the world of business; but I remember this slick little scoundrel from his student days. Your Department would have to pay dearly for that field, or cancel, or be forced to reschedule on impossibly short notice. We have rejected the Admin offer, of course, with a stern reminder that the Academy honors its agreements. Next year I shall accept a formal contract from Mr. Humphries for a peppercorn rent. This will protect us both from further financial or political finagling.

Your Operations Department, Mr. Spears, is very talented but dangerously Junior. This has made them the target of a hostile takeover from an ambitious, jealous Admin group who wish to strip them of their jobs. Mr. Humphries' absence puts them at even greater risk. I suggest that you lend your protection to them, forcefully and publicly. They will not wish to openly confront a Director.

When may we have our Ethics Instructor back? This incident underscores our need for a good one. Also our streetfighting drillmaster, much missed by those students facing their final Reap exams... by the way, your interns have lamented that they cannot return to Operations after graduation because there are no Seniors there to offer the apprenticeships required of Reapers, even desk Reapers. You may wish to think of ways to retain them...

* * *

_May 1906_

White sand, blue sky, blue sea, cool wind. A yacht on the horizon, some rich man's toy. The song of waves and screeching gulls. Other islands in the distance. 'Twas beautiful, so it was, but poor Alan couldn't appreciate it. Alan was only there because Eric had set him on his feet and forced him to walk. But Eric was patient. In his centuries he'd seen any number of Reapers undergo crushing depressions, had done one or two himself in the bad years. This one was a bit different, influenced by their bond. It had required some thought. Alan's recovery was comparatively quick, due to Eric's cheerful good health being shared through their rings.

Alan had begun their exile by sleeping for a week. That was simple exhaustion. Eric had roused him every six to eight hours, fed and watered him, put him back to bed. Water the ivy, water the Alan. About the same level of interaction.

The next fortnight was sleep interspersed with blank stares and weeping. That was depression. Nothing to do but keep him fed and clean. They slept spooned together, Eric curled around Alan, and slowly speech returned. Eric found himself very tired as well. As Alan wasn't eating well, he suspected that the rings were tinkering with balance.

In the fourth week Alan looked up from his clasped hands. He had resigned himself to disgrace, abandonment and execution. Not being in Hell was unexpectedly difficult. He had to work at it. Come up with some plans. Carry on somehow. He was still alive and Eric had not discarded him. He humbly offered Eric his freedom that evening. Eric had to reassure him that yes, Alan was forgiven, and no, Eric did not wish to cancel their vows, or kick Alan out, or leave and transfer to Glasgow.

Eric also reminded him, probably a little too soon, that he still had a job. Alan was daunted; so much to do, so much to teach, so many to protect and he was so tired. He became worried if Eric was out of his line of vision for too long. He tried twice to summon his scythe and said nothing about being unable to do so. He noted that Eric's scythe and knives were also gone. Confiscated, as his had been. His fault. Suicide watch.

In the fifth week there was a flash, just a tiny flash, of true temper. Not depressive shouting in sorrow or despair, but a genuine I-can-dress-myself snark. Eric had celebrated by dragging Alan out of the house, down here to the beach. The sun was bright, the breeze bracing. Slowly Alan raised his eyes. "Pretty."

"Walk with me, m'Light. When you can walk for a good bit without falling over, I have a rare treat for ye. Something ye'll love."

"All right." No interest or enthusiasm. But that would come. They walked along until the turning tide lapped at their feet. Eric moved them higher on the shoreline for the trip back. Alan looked up the beach. "Not far. I can do this."

"Indeed you can. Have a look up the hill."

"Trees. Grasses. Flowers? Like daisies, but blues and purples?" A spark of interest. "There's a path up there." Alan looked again and sighed. "Can't. Maybe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is then. There's a ruined Abbey with a famous garden. Let's get back now. You're doing well."

"Eric...It's half past May, isn't it? I have to get the list of intern and trainee candidates to Will. And I don't know how they've done over the last month."

"Relax. It's done. They've all been doing fine. I've been in touch."

"The Gather! I have to...It's too late..."

"Your Department took it over. They are doing a fine job. Keep walking."

"Are they all right? Admin's been scheming to take them over and sweep them into one of their basement subsections."

"Your Administrative Adjuncts would organize a Branch insurrection to keep their independence. Will would supply the torches and pitchforks. Madame Administrator would lead the charge. Relax. They're fine."

"Our students?"

"Are ready to sit their exams and do their graduation Reaps. You need lunch and a nap."

Alan spluttered and glared. There it was, that stubbornness, that temper. Eric rejoiced. His partner was finally awake.

"Before you ask; no, we can't go back. No scythes, can't port. Besides, it would get Will in trouble. We're officially being punished for not going through proper channels. A face-saving sop to Judicial, whose history of arbitrary executions worked against them. Will can't end a disciplinary action too early, smacks of favoritism. Madame Administrator would send us right back here.

"If you recover properly we'll be released mid-June, but only if you promise not to interfere with the truly stellar job your kids are doing on the Gather and the daily business of your Department. Start planning how you're going to wangle early promotion for your Section Managers so they can apprentice your best interns when they graduate. We need to do something equally nice for the teaching assistants who've been covering for us, but I don't understand the promotion paths of Academia at all. Another scheme for you to invent. Should keep ye busy."

Alan deflated. "And I'm still so tired. If I push myself I'll collapse again. I know I have to behave. I will sleep and eat and exercise. I will set aside an hour each evening to fret, though. Will you tell me what you know of the Branch and Academy news, or is that still forbidden?"

"Eat and sleep and do as I tell ye. In return I shall parcel out little drabs of gossip."

"If we are confined, how do you know gossip?"

"It's a secret. Door's open. Go lie down. I'll make some hot chocolate."

"Did you say—a garden?"

In the sixth week Alan explored the Abbey gardens. There were hundreds of plants he'd never seen before. Fantastic flowers without names or assigned meanings flourished everywhere. Golden pheasants took seeds from his fingers. Paths led from one subtropical marvel to another. Eric reminded him to eat and sleep.

In the seventh week, Eric woke to find Alan gone. He shouldn't be worried, of course everything was fine. But. He threw on clothing and started a search. Finally his brain caught up with him. He stopped to listen; ah; a thread of melody. Alan was singing to the wind and waves and the rising sun, a song of friendship turning to love. Eric joined him on the bench and sang harmony. Alan smiled and offered a happy ballad. Eric repaid with an ancient tune of unrequited love. Alan laughed. Eric humphed.

"And what is wrong with a fine courting song like 'Greensleeves?' Is it not a beautiful tune?"

"The melody is indeed beautiful. Words are—haha, I'm sorry—hilarious. I just had a mental image of the lost last verse, where the exasperated lady tells him she's sick of his whining, her affections are not for sale, she's insulted by his implications, and her menfolk are coming around to explain things in terms even he can understand."

Eric laughed.

Alan said, "When can we go home?"


	29. Madame Administrator loses all patience

_June 1906_

Section Manager Brock, Section Manager ffoulkes, Senior Administrative Adjunct Depoy, and Supreme Master of the Universe Holbert met with their Department Head on the day of his return from the Rest Facility. They were quite nervous about his possible reactions to their management during his absence. Humphries received their reports with great interest and complete approval. "You have all done wonderfully. I cannot express how proud of you all I am. Is there anything you need to continue your work?"

"Your presence, Sir, will ease things enormously," said Brock. "It allows us to turn our full attention to the work at hand instead of watching for political maneuvers. We've been worried about forward planning—none of us really have a talent for it, we're clerks without any experience—and that's a big part of the Budget."

"We've lost our interns as of the end of May," said ffoulkes. "They really wanted to stay but we've no way to keep them. They're going to have to accept Admin positions. I worry about how they will be treated there."

"Are they so unsuited to Reaper apprenticeships?" asked Humphries.

"About the same as us. We're here because Mr. Spears assigned us here. We aren't serving Reaper apprenticeships because we can't do both jobs. No Senior wants to be lumbered with a part-time student. We attend the remedial classes and we spar regularly, but we are neither fish nor fowl. If Admin claims us, we'll have to type and file for twenty years to rise to a status to ask to come back. If we stay here, we are forever untrained Reaping candidates. Even our status as Juniors is suspect because we have not been confirmed in it by proper Mentors."

"We are training a new set of interns now," added Brock. "But we have to warn them not to get too happy with the job because they need to look for proper apprenticeships next year. Also, working here will not endear them to Admin, if they want to work there after graduation."

"Senior Depoy, are we really doing so much damage to an intern's hopes of an Admin career?"

"These are talented kids graduating with a year's experience of proper Reaping forms and procedures. Since Admin doesn't offer internships, this puts our interns well ahead of applicants without prior experience. On the other hand, they've been part of a group that competes with Admin. A lot depends on which manager they are assigned to. As an Admin I can try to keep an eye on them, but there is little I can do if they are mistreated. Their safest option is to find positions well away from London."

"I need to think about this." Humphries turned to Brock and ffoulkes. "This department needs a proper promotion path. Let me do some research, some asking around. I'll want your advice on any scheme I can concoct. I won't have you punished or scorned for doing essential work. I'll want to know your preferences. Do you want full Reaper training and status, or would you prefer to belong to Admin? Think about it and let me know. Senior Depoy, whom should I appease to end this dispute with Admin? I want us to be able to work together in harmony."

"You already have an ally in Auditing. Give them the cover letter and contracts sent by 'Creepy' Crawleigh. Tell 'em you are willing to forego pressing charges in favor of friendly relations and mutual cooperation. They will take care of it. If this went to the Higher Ups, Admin would be declared at fault. Crawleigh's an ambitious, pushy conniver who has embarrassed his superiors. He will find himself sharpening pencils in Sasketoon. The other names on those contracts will likewise be demoted. They will be scattered far from London and far from each other. That should end the plotting against you and your people. There will be no advantage in it, you see."

Alan thought for a moment. His staff, having seen that expression before, waited with interest to see what happened. "Senior Depoy. Would you be willing to assume a few extra responsibilities?"

"Within reasonable limits, yes, sir."

"If I were to negotiate a promotion and a rise in pay from your superiors in Admin, would you be willing to accept Mentorship of our Juniors? I know that Admin's training requirements are far different from ours. Can you train multiple people in a desk environment?"

"That's our usual approach. Being noncombatants, we don't need the individual attention of a five-year Mentor. Most new hires answer to their superiors, who may have an entire Group as their students. Effectively, I'm doing that now."

"Your trainees would be proper Admin Juniors, regardless of where they sat?"

"Indeed they would, sir."

"Even if they also were required to do the combat drills needed by an Adjunct of a Reaper Branch?"

"Some of our Higher Ups remember the last great disaster, sir. We drill our own as well. We aren't soldiers, but we can defend ourselves and our Division if attacked, and Reap if protected by those who are better trained. There will be no problem with your drill. Some of our Juniors might be asked to share what they learn."

"Then I think I may be able to negotiate a peace with Admin which will benefit us both. They will just need to see a profit in it, and I believe we can offer one." That look of thought returned. "For Juniors who wish to follow a Reaper path, the question is time. They will need to surrender Departmental duties while completing a full apprenticeship. I will not have them Reaping while exhausted; neither would their Mentors. Let me know which Juniors are interested. We'll consider each case individually. I imagine that most of this Department will be affiliated with Admin in the future. If, of course, they are willing to work under a Department Head who is a Reaper."

"No problem there, sir."

"Thank you. Junior Brock, may I have one of your sets of copies of those contracts? Hold on to the originals. Now, Supreme Master of the Universe, how goes the planning for the Gather?"

"Quite well, Sir. We have a Committee very eager to throw an excellent party. We intend to expand our area by opening a large Portal, borrowed from the Monitors, onto a secluded beach in Jamaica. It'll be located over in the rough ground past the fieldhouse. Small tents will serve as changing rooms. They'll have a pavilion, too. We've rented towels, beach umbrellas and swimsuits from the local Supplies depot, which will also allow use of their showers. We'll let their staff visit our party. Next year they'll probably offer everything free in return for a general invitation. They may bring food, too.

"The barbecue tent will be a joint effort between the Scientific folks and the Cafeteria, who want recipes, and the Monitors have promised enough pizza so the Cafeteria can investigate serving that too. Cheap ingredients, filling, but requiring specialized equipment. We have subcommittees for the setup and cleanup of various games. We'll send out a notification to all the invitees next week, giving the schedule of events and a list of attractions.

"The Honorable Academician and Bursar would like to talk to you, Mr. Humphries, about a contract for the use of that field in future years. He wants a written and witnessed deed that gives both sides legal standing and will prevent subsequent conflicts of scheduling. I think Mr. Crawleigh tried something sleazy there. That should be added to your list of charges against him, sir. The Academy is the second outside Division he has attempted to manipulate.

"Scythes is putting up a tent to show off some of their new developments. No sales, just display. They'll show the new knives if available. In future years this might be the beginning of a midway with vendors, if we want to do that for what is essentially an overgrown yard party.

"We've added a meet-and-greet tent, shaded seating and lemonade, for Seniors and unmatched Graduates looking to arrange apprenticeships. Also for group discussions, and a symposium if you want one. The Angels will be bringing representatives of other Garrisons. The Cafeteria will provide the tent with additional food and beverages if we can give them a week's notice.

"The Bonfire will be built by Brighton this year. They ask that you lay the rosemary, which they consider part of the traditional London ceremony. It appears that 'tradition' is anything we've done twice and gotten away with. The Lighter of the Fire is also yours to determine. So far this year our Branch has no fatalities. They leave the Absent Friends salute to Mr. Spears and the Verse of the Grass to the Reaper of his choice.

"Mr. Brock is keeping a detailed Book for the Gather, to be audited, approved and filed the same as the other Ledgers. You don't have to do a thing but show up, look official and have fun."

* * *

Madame Administrator was angry. It had been centuries since that anger was directed at him. Eric Slingby stood before her desk and cringed.

"We have done your husband a great disservice, Eric. By attempting to protect him, we isolated him from you. This was certainly the underlying cause of his collapse. I am invoking our agreement. Because we need him in his current position and duties, you will be reassigned."

"Can we do that with our current workforce? Especially with six Juniors tied to desk jobs in Operations?"

"Eight Reaping Juniors will become eligible for promotion this month. Four new teams. Make sure their Seniors will not deny them promotion out of a reluctance to start over with a new Trainee. Part of your new duties, Eric. You will become part of our plans for an increased and better equipped workforce."

"I have ever avoided desk jobs, Eliza—"

"I know that. Grow up. Remember your agreement with me, Mr. Slingby. We made a deal. You wished to save your partner, correct? Yet over the last year he slipped into a suicidal depression and _you did not notice._ You allowed your schedules to diverge to the point that he worked eighteen-hour days to avoid going home to an empty apartment and _you did not notice._ "

"Eliza—"

"You failed him, sirrah. That will not happen again. You will accept your responsibilities as he has accepted his.

"Eight years, Eric. By your own estimate, we have eight years before catastrophe. You will keep Mr. Humphries happy, sane, and above all, _functional_ for the next fifteen years or until the catastrophe is over. If after that you find your partnership too much trouble, you may break the bond when we can have proper support arranged for him. Perchance he too will have become tired of a companion who is so little concerned for his welfare.

"A full description of your new duties has been sent to Spears and Humphries and yourself. Since I know very well that you will not read it, we will go over it now. Sit down. Take notes.

"Alan has rank but no seniority; he has been a Reaper for only twenty-five years and his record is blemished. His Section Managers are not-quite-third-year unmentored Juniors who are not properly affiliated with any Division. Small wonder that they offend Administration, who see Operations' existence as usurpation of their clerical and bookkeeping jurisdictions. You are going to change that.

"You now belong to the Operations Department. You will become the protector of the Department. You are to acquire the reputation of an Enforcer, subject only to the Director, the Assistant Director and myself. You will also occasionally serve as a bodyguard for Spears and Humphries, and for any Operations employee who has an assignment outside the office. You are to learn all of Operations' duties, though you will rarely be expected to perform them. You will know if anyone in the area does not belong there. You will protect the staff so that they can work in peace.

"You will make it known that the Department, as well as the Branch itself, is not to be trifled with or plotted against. Because, sir, I have reached the end of my patience with this interference from another Division's undertrained and overweening politician. I have given Auditing official notice that I will take this to Arbitration if it does not stop immediately and permanently. Admin does not want a public hearing that they cannot win.

"Your presence will lend your centuries of seniority to their very Junior status. If anyone visits the Department, you will accompany them. If anyone has a dispute with the Department Juniors, you will attend the hearing. If anyone pressures the Department Juniors, you will throw them out. Operations Juniors will soon assume the scheduling of blade deliveries from the Garrison to Supplies. If any of them are approached for access to those blades, I expect you to teach the requester the error of his ways.

"While you sit growling at that desk, you will assume oversight of the Branch's apprenticeships. You will continue to recommend interns and trainees from the Academy. You will also monitor the progress of other Juniors. I will not have any of them damaged by incapable Seniors. Anders and Brandon cost us one Junior and nearly lost us a second; they will not teach again unless I allow it. If their new partners consider them unstable at the end of a year, they will be transferred. We will no longer tolerate suboptimal performance.

"Your Sweeps will be cut to Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. You will work with the various triads as always, but pay attention to the interactions between Juniors and Mentors. You will assume Alan's duty of arranging the remedial classes for newly graduated Trainees. You will drill your desk Reapers in their combat exercises. You will consider how a Reaping Trainee with a full-time desk job and no Mentor may become a Reaping Junior and eventually a Senior. This is, after all, a Reaping Branch. If they are mere file clerks, Admin is right to claim them. I want a report of your conclusions in a week.

"You will assist Miss Cortland with Scheduling. This lends your seniority to her decisions. Once again, anyone who tries to bribe or bully her should be made to regret it; while she does not actually need backup, it must be seen to exist. This also allows you to arrange your own street schedule to facilitate the performance of your other duties.

"You will continue your teaching schedule as before, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Alan will rejoin you in your combat training classes and continue to teach Ethics and Technique. Afternoons will see you in Operations. On days that you have Sweep duty, join Alan at the beginning of second shift for another two hours at your new responsibilities. You will then take him away from the office, no later than eighteen hundred hours. Your schedule will coincide with his, and neither of you will work more than ten hours per day for now. Both of you will work only a half-day on Sundays. You will leave the office together at noon, no later.

"As to further staffing, London has been foremost in the adoption of new protections for its Reapers. We have become an attractive workplace. Expect more transfer requests from other Branches. I am encouraging this; if other Branches want to keep their staff, they will have to modernize. It's another facet of Azrael's command to change old habits.

"You will interview applicants. You will favor those who have trained successful Juniors. You will become familiar with all transfers, with the purpose of judging their fitness to Mentor, even if they have trained apprentices elsewhere. Our Mentors will be held to a higher standard than those serving lesser Branches, as will their apprentices.

"I have twice seen this Branch reduced to a tenth of its size. This time I intend our survival rates to be much higher. We will not field undertrained or incompetent Reapers as was done before."

* * *

Alan went straight to his desk and called the Academy. He had a most informative chat with the Bursar. "You sent a note to Mr. Spears, sir? Thank you. Would you prefer that he sign the contract for the field rental? Oh, of course I would be happy to sign, but perhaps his higher rank...Yes, sir, I will sign it when I come in to teach my Monday classes. Thank you, sir, I'm very happy to be back...yes, sir, Eric as well."

He drafted a detailed letter to Sarah Goodfellow of Auditing. After rewriting it twice, making sure every point was covered, he typed out a fair copy. Into a heavy envelope it went, along with copies of the contracts and their cover letter. He picked up the phone again to call Agent D'Acres.

"Roland? This is Humphries. Yes, just back today. Fine, thanks. I have a large envelope for your lady wife. When you are ready to leave today, would you bring your briefcase to my office? Yes, something that would interest her from a professional standpoint. I don't want to ask for a meeting because I'm not willing to endanger our official ignorance of each other's existence. I'll follow her instructions as to follow-up...no, nothing so dangerous as the hellmouth; just opportunistic cross-Division claim-jumping. It's interfering with departmental cooperation.

"How's Fitz's Junior doing? Excellent, I'm very glad to hear that. Ten Hagen was a standout at the Academy. I really started liking him when he eavesdropped on the meeting where I proposed the first Gather...of course we knew he was there. Will can track everybody's glasses, you know. He routinely scans the area outside his office before every meeting... I'll see you at sixteen-thirty, then. Goodbye."


	30. ...is an even worse job

Back at his desk, Alan began the process of catching up with his Department. Affiliation was a priority. His unmentored, unclassified Juniors needed to be placed within the Association's schedule of training and promotion as soon as possible. Without that, they could gain no seniority or respect. It also confused their pay grades. He would insist that their seniority in their official assignments be made retroactive, covering all time spent in the service of the Department and Branch. Just in case the Department eventually was forced to close down.

Who would choose Admin? Probably all three working in Bookkeeping. Brock and his comptometer Maybelle were already old marrieds. Brock's two helpers were clerks born and bred. So were the helpers in Documents. They should have the same standing as the Administrative Adjuncts. Adjunct Assistant Depoy needed an impressive title to reflect her considerable seniority, skills and experience. Not only was she a teacher and a willing Mentor, she had a first-class garbage alarm. Once the Department won respect, others might try to hire her away. Alan made a note. When things had settled a bit, she might like some classes which would make her attractive to Auditing. Just in case.

ffoulkes, however, was not happy. He wanted to enter Reaper training, even though it would cost him the Admin seniority earned in the Department. Alan needed to make a proper list of Seniors who were ready to take apprentices, then arrange interviews. He had two weeks before the Gather. He should be able to come up with two or three possible matches and schedule meetings in the meet-and-greet tent. ffoulkes could work his standard Reaping shifts, then drop in on the Department for an hour to see how his Section was getting on. Alan would have him recommend one of his subordinates to take over his title and responsibilities; one with a preference for Admin; Documentation would bore anyone who wanted to qualify for Collections. By the time ffoulkes was promoted to Senior, Operations might have more active roles to offer him. If not, the Branch would be the richer for an excellent Reaper. 

Reapers...check to see how Anders and Brandon were doing in their new partnerships. A note; what to do with them if there was no improvement? Probably a small town transfer. Might give them some brief protection when the bad times began. Replace them with Reapers who were up to London's requirements.

Scheduling? Cortland was doing a fine job. Fierce lady. Nobody would argue with her. Must ask if she would like to share the duty with another Senior or two. The extra work should not become a burden. Alan made another note.

Note: Schedule a meeting with Will. Status update, Department and Branch, from a different point of view. Any new added responsibilities? Note: Introduce himself to the new interns, see how they were doing, if they needed anything.

Now, what about the manufacture and distribution of the new knives? Check with Will. It had been two months. Production was probably under way. And Ten Hagen's friend Smithfield and his Senior had been playing with one; what had they thought up? Had they managed to hold onto it, or had it been commandeered by a superior? In which case he'd give them one of his pair, and this time declare it a short-term loan so it couldn't be appropriated. Alan wanted some creative thought applied to the possible uses of the blade metal. Another note added to the list.

And another note: Check in with Captain Artois. Would the Captain be upset with him? Possibly apologies and a few of his 'uncomfortable thoughts' would be necessary to heal the breach. While the United Kingdom was upgrading its systems, the Garrisons of the Commonwealth probably weren't yet. Status update for Commonwealth countries likely to provide soldiers for the war? And had there been more Ravenings? Where? He was so out of touch.

For a moment, Alan was overwhelmed. He breathed deeply. One thing at a time, and the first thing was tea. Or coffee. Whatever smelled better, and a scone. A quick trip to the Cafeteria, then back to the next stack of paper on his desk. He stood, put on his jacket, and walked to the door. He opened it just as Eric raised his hand to knock.

"Eric? Come on in—Eric, what's wrong? You look awful. Were you called to a Ravening? Are you hurt? Here, sit down. I was just going for tea, shall I bring you some?"

"I think—let me sit a moment. Just a little shocky. I've got a new job. No, not transferred out! In your Department." Eric held up a folder. "I've just been reassigned with extreme prejudice and a wee hint of sacked. You're supposed to have a copy of this. We need to go over it."

Alan quickly sorted through the right-hand stack on his desk. He pulled out a similar folder. "Got it. Let me just see what they've stuck you with...Oh. Madame Administrator. Oh, dear. No getting out of it, then. Oh...oh, Eric, I am so sorry! I know you've never wanted a desk job. Enforcer? Escort and bodyguard and security. Not so desk after all, really. Look, I'm beginning negotiations with Auditing to nullify the threat from Admin. We and Admin may well work together amicably by year's end. So those duties may become moot. Oh. The knives. Maybe we will need security, until they've been distributed to everyone and become easily available from Supplies."

"Keep reading, Alan. There's more."

"Well. You're still teaching, good, and I get to help with combat training again. That's very welcome. And you're still doing demon sweeps. Not as often. At least you're still active. But now you are also checking on how the Juniors' training is progressing.

"Training. Mentors. Personnel. Oh my. Will did once threaten to dump hiring and firing onto Operations but we just did not have the time or the talent. You poor suffering soul." Alan was smiling. Eric was positive that that was not a good thing.

"Do you remember, Eric, the first day we sparred at the Academy? You said there needed to be a better way to match graduates to Seniors. And to oversee their training. Now you get to build that process. That is absolutely wonderful! Congratulations! No, I don't think you were fired. Remember the reward for doing a job well?" Alan sat down behind his desk and dissolved in laughter. 

Eric straightened up. "Ye evil wee reprobate!"

"Yes, I am. Evil. Absolutely, without hesitation or fear of failure. You and I will sit down and go through your new responsibilities. We'll drag your desk over here, as soon as we figure out where it will fit. I'll introduce you to Maybelle. You're required to know how she works."

"Maybelle?"

"Maybelle. And be polite. Brock's a jealous man. But first, let's go down to the Cafeteria. I need a sip and a bite, and so do you."

* * *

The first project Alan gave Eric was the apprenticeship of ffoulkes. Spears had assigned him to Alan nearly two years ago. He had worked hard, had risen to Section Manager in a job that needed doing but in which he was not happy. He had two other trainees and two Admin rentals working for him. They liked him and their jobs. ffoulkes was beginning to despair of ever escaping the endless processing of paperwork. Eric sympathized.

ffoulkes' reward for his efforts was nil. He properly belonged to no division. He had no status or seniority beyond an empty title. He was two years past his peak of training, a Reaping candidate who had never been apprenticed. He no longer wore student eyeglasses, but had no Reaper's kit. He still had a student scythe. No question, Will had done him a disservice. Poor kid had fallen through the cracks. Done his best with a bad bargain. Alan was determined that he be matched to an excellent Mentor. Eric agreed and ported to the Academy.

At the Academy, Eric accessed ffoulkes' student history. Class ranking, good. Final exams (classroom), good. Final exam (Reaping), good. Commended for attention paid to the Records. No demerits beyond the usual stuff handed out in the early days to keep the students cowed. Overall, good enough to intern in London, return as a Reaping candidate, catch Will's eye when a clerk was needed, and get stuck in an inappropriate job.

Eric returned to the Department, plucked ffoulkes from his piles of paper and took him outside. Sparring told him that ffoulkes had been trying to keep his skills, but was a bit stale. Which was perfectly understandable, given Alan's absence for two months. They'd all been too busy for proper practice. Pretty good, all things considered. ffoulkes needed a mentor willing to give extra drill at first, and a little extra encouragement.

"Have ye done the remedial classes?"

"Yes, sir, with last year's trainees. I assume any Senior would want them repeated with this year's new trainees after the matchups at the Gather."

"Have ye made yer wish for a Mentor known?"

"No, sir, not believing I would be permitted to leave my current position, and seeing no way to complete the training while working here."

"Come then. We will put your name on the applicants' list at once. Ye do have the advantage of being known to the Branch."

"Yes, sir, but only as a clerk."

"Ye helped when there was a need. No shame in that. You deserve well of the Branch. Alan wants you properly matched, and matched you shall be. Ye need a patient Senior who will allow for your two years in an administrative desert. His partner should also be supportive. Is there anyone here you know you can't work with?"

"Sir, I will work with any Senior who will have me. I have no differences with any Reaper of any Branch." Aye, his job had beaten him down to dust. Eric resolved to check all the other Department workers in case there was another lost Reaper candidate weeping in a corner. Also the interns so this wouldn't happen to them. He'd Mentor this fellow himself if he and Alan weren't deskbound and thus ineligible.

"I intend to make up a list of Seniors ready and willing to train. You'll look at it and we'll set up interviews for the Gather. You will be matched, suited, armed and in classes the next week."

"Thank you, sir!"

"Start training your replacement now. They'll probably ask you to check in after your Reaping shift each day. Stay no more than an hour, less if possible, taper off to nothing. Make them do it all themselves. After your acceptance it's no longer your job. Give direction but do not pitch in. Your Mentor will not be pleased if you overtire yourself. And believe me, you will be very tired. In five years you can decide if you ever want to work Operations again. At that time the purpose and duties of the Department may have changed out of all recognition. Don't decide before then."

ffoulkes left, hiding tears of joy. Eric watched him go. Maybe this job wouldn't be a total waste of time after all. Now; which Seniors were eligible and available? Eight promotions this year. They really couldn't afford to give those Mentors a year off. Several other Seniors had reached the mandatory experience level for teaching. He'd make a list, run it past Alan and Spears for any objections, and maybe past Grell if he could catch her in a good mood. She'd know any gossip or rumors that might affect someone's suitability. He'd want the Academy records of the candidates, and probably the new interns too. 

Damn. He was going to need a file cabinet. With a lock. None of this was Admin's business or anyone else's. The desk was bad enough, but a file cabinet? He had become a manager. And he was going to like it because Eliza would have his ears if he didn't, so she would. God save him.

* * *

Alan did not have to seek a meeting with Spears. Spears commanded his presence and delivered a thundering scold about _sneaking behind your superior's back, upsetting the entire Realm clear up to the Highest without warning me, Humphries, and don't give me that innocent look. I know better. You will confine yourself to the business of your Department, sir, which now includes Slingby. I can think of no greater punishment than that. Good luck with keeping him on-task and properly dressed. That's now your responsibility, thank all the Powers. Your absence was an enormous inconvenience. You will take care of yourself, understand?_

Alan was instructed to do a number of things he had already scheduled, including a call to Captain Artois ( _for some reason he's worried about you_ ) and Auditing ( _Madame has filed a complaint against Administration. Kindly turn Auditing's attention away from us_ ).

Once Spears was off the boil, they got down to a proper briefing. Spears gave him a badly needed update on the events of the last two months.

"Your group performed their duties admirably. I looked in on them and found they needed no oversight. Their relief at having you back is palpable, however. You were sorely missed. Your teaching assistants at the Academy have done well but are demanding reassurance that I have not consigned you to some horrific punishment detail at the bottom of an ocean. Honestly. Do calm them down.

"Now, about your new utility knives. They have been endorsed by the Archangel Michael. They have proven most effective. All Reapers are to have them, as soon as they can be assembled. Angelic smiths are now producing the blades in quantity, while Supplies has retooled its production line to fit the blades into varying sizes of handles. The first shipment of blades has arrived. However, I understand that the first run of the handles was stopped and discarded.

"Scythes has come up with a design change which they say makes the current model obsolete. Please investigate that and send me a report. Better, get one of the new ones for Grell. The angels will continue to deliver the blades to Supplies; I want you or Slingby present at the handovers. You will be responsible for ordering the blades over Madame's signature and should therefore witness and sign for their delivery.

"Ravenings continue in other areas. London has not seen one since Slingby used his angelic blade, shortly before you left. I do not think there were any Demonic survivors to take news of the blade back to Hell. The demons are just working other areas which aren't yet well-practiced with the new alarms and defenses. 

"Azrael is not currently active here. Acceptance of the new systems and equipment is now complete in this Division. I suspect other countries may be seeing these attacks and receiving our upgrades. His many delegates are also elsewhere. Uriel can be contacted through the Garrison.

"This month we will promote eight Juniors to Senior status. I have had one partnership request. It's on Slingby's desk. It involves one of the new Seniors and one who was promoted early. Slingby will pair the rest up if they have no partnership preferences. The odd man out is his problem. If he finds a transfer applicant of sufficient skill who would be an acceptable partner, I will approve the hire. He is to submit a weekly status report.

"I tell you this because I know he's not yet in the habit of reading his mail before discarding it. You will correct this deficiency immediately. He's probably unaware that he's now responsible for hiring and firing as well as training. See that he uses the proper forms and templates."

* * *

Alan called the number he had been given for Auditing. He was transferred to the desk of Auditor Goodfellow, who told her secretary to prevent any interruption. Alan heard the door close. Sarah snickered. "I have received your packet, Mr. Humphries. You are going to be a popular man."

"Excuse me, Auditor? What have I done now?"

"Are you aware that your Madame Administrator filed a complaint against Admin, demanding Arbitration for, ah, 'inexcusable offenses' against her Division?"

"It was mentioned to me this morning. No details."

"With your contracts and cover letter in hand, we deem her complaint valid. If this goes to Arbitration, Admin will be publicly shamed and seriously sanctioned. Your offer of a cease-fire in exchange for cooperation is far better than Mr. Crawleigh's horrified superiors could hope for. They are ready to throw themselves at your feet and hail you as their rescuer."

"I am particularly annoyed that Mr. Crawleigh launched his assault while I was unavailable to protect my people. Yet it was one of my Admin Adjuncts who caught him at it and blocked him."

"Yes. AA Depoy appears to have learned much in her many years of service. This sort of land grab, in a milder form, is common enough to be a spectator sport within Admin. But to attack an outside Division, especially Collections, is entirely abhorrent. It brings Auditing in. We kick everybody." 

"Do you find my requests reasonable?"

"I do. They are not so severe as to inspire resentment, nor so mild as to inspire contempt. Our department shall impose penalties which will prevent anyone from trying this again, at least for a very long time. Collections will not be blamed for it."

"I wish our Divisions to cooperate freely in the future. I suspect that we are nearing a time of emergency in which unity will become important."

"I agree. This will be an excellent beginning. Here are my proposals, Mr. Humphries. 

"Mr. Crawleigh and all the Admins named on the contracts, plus a few others who knew of his plans, and his immediate superior who did not restrain him, will be left to the discipline of their own Higher Ups, who are truly furious; as long as their decisions meet with Auditing approval. We may actually have to temper those punishments. Crawleigh's Group to be disbanded and the innocent reassigned. Retraining for all equivalent Groups and their managers. 

"Your Operations Department to be declared a joint subsection of Admin and Collections, always to answer to a Reaper Head of Department. Disobedient Admins to be disciplined by Admin, disobedient Reapers to be disciplined by Collections. 

"For reparations: Temporary workers to be supplied, at no cost, by Admin as needed: in April, before the interns leave, and September, when Budget season begins. Those temp workers to be reused if possible, to minimize training and to provide a pool of experienced candidates for full-time positions within your Department.

"AA Depoy to be promoted, her salary increased, her Mentorship extended to all Admin workers in your Department. She may, if she wishes, select an assistant from your Graduates or our Division. Junior status to be awarded to those in your Department who are currently unclaimed and wish to join Admin; seniority as of their date of assignment to your Department. Pay and privileges of all to be commensurate; access to additional training confirmed and prepaid."

Alan suggested, "I thought that AA Depoy might profit from some Auditing training."

"Agreed. She's sharp. If your Department expands to the point where she feels unable to Mentor all the Juniors, Admin will supply and pay an additional Senior who is acceptable to her and to you. Any Admin who deals with files pertinent only to Reaping will sign a non-disclosure agreement. When those files become too large for local storage, Admin will provide a separate locked area staffed by Senior Admins under a non-disclosure agreement. Charges and salaries paid by Admin in perpetuity. Thus you have actually created jobs within Admin and your Department, allowing them to increase their budget. Oh, yes, you will be popular."

"Do you think we will actually need more room for our files?"

A chuckle. "Inevitably. Paper breeds paper. It's just a question of time. Roland has mentioned your increase in trainees and transfers. Your personnel files alone are soon going to shove you out your own door. As you add desks, you will have to shift storage if you cannot expand into nearby rooms. Locked storage rooms are nothing new. Several Divisions have private Stacks with dedicated staff. They, however, must pay for them. Every twenty years or so some curious Junior will ask why your service is provided free of charge, and so the lesson will be retaught. "

"You are right, of course. Have you considered accepting interns into Admin? We can only afford so many, and I have some excellent prospects at the Academy who are very much interested."

"As a matter of fact, yes. For this year, Admin will pay for any extra interns you can fit into your Department. From there we will introduce them into our Division. Next year we shall have a proper protocol and process to accept interns of our own. We would be very happy to receive your recommendations each year. Also, if you could, please find us other Academicians of an Admin bent who would recommend promising candidates; we understand your preference must be for future Reapers. Another continuing contribution to your popularity with Admin Seniors."

"That is wonderful. I can name three, no, four outstanding students who are perfect for your Division. I'll talk to the professors of Forms and Reporting. Whom should they contact?"

"Senior Grofeld of Personnel. Do you accept these terms, Mr. Humphries?"

"I do. Please send a formal document. I can have Mr. Spears countersign. Do you also need approval from Madame?"

"I have spoken to Madame already. The only signature needed is yours. Mr. Spears is not a party to this protest or adjustment. In this case Madame and Auditing have the final word. You as the injured party must declare your acceptance of our agreement. Expect the document today. I suggest that AA Depoy review it, as it falls into her area of expertise. We shall rewrite her job description to cover the inspection of all offered contracts. Have her hand-deliver the signed agreement to me. I want to meet her and discuss her future training and promotion."

"Yes, of course. She's an undervalued resource. I'm glad to see her recognized. Thank you, Ms. Goodfellow, for all these gifts. I hope to see our Divisions cooperate fully in the future."

"If Admin had cooperated properly with you from the beginning, they could have enjoyed your help without having to pay so dearly for it. I believe lessons have been learned. The agreement is on its way to you. Do say hello to my husband and Agent Fitzwilliam if you see them."

Alan crossed several items off his list. Will would probably resent being bypassed by the agreement with Auditing. Therefore it would be best if that was offset by a report on Scythe's possible upgrade of the knives. He should call...Crawford? Engineer Crawford, that's right.

"Operator, I wish to talk to Engineer Crawford of Scythes. I don't have his number. Can you help? Yes, I'll hold."

It took a while. Evidently Engineer Crawford was a man who worked in several different areas in a large workshop. Finally the operator chased him down. "Mr Humphries, Engineer Crawford is on the line. Fair warning, he's not happy about being interrupted. Engineers usually aren't." The line went live. "Engineer Crawford, Mr. Humphries is on the line."

Engineer Crawford groused, "This had better be good. Oh, wait. Humphries. You gave my trainee the knife. Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

"I am sorry to interrupt your work, sir. Did you manage to keep hold of the knife?"

"Yes, we still have it. Thanks. Want it back, I suppose? Can't have it."

"No, sir, it's yours. I would like an update on your work with it, if possible. I am told there is a major development in the works."

"Hmm. Ah. Well now. Yes, actually. No change to the blade, of course. My apprentice suggested a rather clever redesign of the haft. Partly political. His roommate is a Reaper, you see. Both badly frightened that he might be implicated in a possible theft of a heavenly weapon of war.

"Also, partly practical. The current knives are easy to lose in a fight. They can get dropped, stepped on, kicked away, lost in the mud. Next thing you know a demon or a human is running around with one. Inevitable. Bad. I think maybe the Angels can summon 'em back. We can't. We stopped all production and disassembled the finished knives. 

"Smithfield suggested that one side of the haft be fitted with a plain jackknife of Scythe metal. Therefore the whole construct is technically a scythe. The Angelic blade becomes merely an additional feature, you see? Something the most conservative Reaper would find unobjectionable. Just enough scythe metal to port a medium-sized Reaper about two hundred yards line-of-sight, one hundred yards through obstructions. Can be summoned, or banished to storage, from any distance. Don't have to carry them around if you don't want to, just summon if needed. Handy in a close melee where a larger scythe might be a danger to allies. Very precise porting at short distances. If you are right in front of claws and teeth, this allows you to zip directly behind 'em and stab 'em where it hurts. Not necessary to open the scythe blade to port. Jackknife requires two hands to extend, stiff action, so no accidental flipouts. Blade lock included so nobody has to regrow fingers. Efficiently releases souls and Cinematic Records. Will require a bit of porting practice."

"Is that going to replace the current utility knife, do you think?"

"No. The utility knife, with a carbon-steel blade, can be thrown at an enemy. If lost in the human realm it's just another knife, though a very good one. There will still be a demand for the original model. A matter of personal taste and fighting style. But the Angelic blades now in use must be recalled and rehafted. Simple enough."

"Thank you, Engineer. You have a remarkable apprentice."

"Whom you referred to us two years ago. Thank you, Mr. Humphries. I think he will become an ornament of our Division once we've overcome his complete lack of scientific education."

"May I request notification when this new model goes into production? My superior wishes one for his partner, the Red Reaper of London."

"If you can guarantee that she will practice with it before relying upon it, I shall provide one to my apprentice. He will pass it to his roommate who will deliver it to you. Make sure she surrenders the old one. We need the blade."

"Eric and I each have two of the first issue, sir. Shall we surrender them to Smitty's roommate?"

"No. You're both smart enough not to lose them. Bring them to the Gather, if you will. The handles have been in production for a week. Complete knives in production tomorrow. Tell everybody we're planning to offer refitting of existing knives in our tent at the Gather. Won't take above five minutes. We'll also issue new knives, first come, first served, one per Reaper."

"Thank you, sir. I will not keep you from your work any longer. My regards to Mr. Smithfield."

"Thanks. Must go. Explosions imminent. Goodbye."


	31. Midsummer's Eve, 1906

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Verse of the Grass:
> 
> _"As for man, his days are like grass;_  
>  _he flourishes like a flower of the field;_  
>  _for the wind passes over it, and it is gone,_  
>  _and its place knows it no longer."_

_Midsummer's eve, 1906_

Alan knelt in the first light of morning to lay rosemary and purple verbena* on the graves. "Benjamin, Alys, forgive me for never repaying your kindness. I have done my best for your Junior. She is well Mentored. She is recovering from your loss. She is armed with a weapon that might have saved you. May the Highest bless and forgive you and send you to a better life."

Eric waited at the graveyard gate, watching his partner lay a hand on each gravestone, bright and bare as the day they were placed there. He thought it a pity that moss and lichen would never cover the stones with forgetfulness. Very little natural life could endure in the Reaper realm. He sometimes wondered how Alan's pot of ivy managed to survive. Perhaps it was the touch of a Reaper's ungloved hand, granting time. Perhaps it was something special about Alan.

Alan had liked Thatcher and McCain. Their loss had struck him deeply, aye. Eric's own instructors, so long ago, had taught that it was dangerous for Reapers to befriend their own kind or any other, that there was less pain in solitude. More madness, though, and those teachings had been dropped, or at least made milder.

It was his duty to cheer Alan up. Today was Midsummer's Eve. Alan should learn the bliss that was beef, charcoal-grilled, on a toasted bun, oh yes. And that flatbread that Iris and the Monitors raved about. "Come now, me laddie, let's go drink our tea and teach our classes while the Gather sets up its tents. We'll have lunch at the grill tent, get our knives upgraded to the new haft, and I want to see the beach they've opened for swimming. Hae ye ever gone swimming?"

"I swim like a rock. Have you?"

"Not intentionally. I've done some bad ports in the past. Into cold seas. In winter. And we've followed Reaps off any number of London bridges and docks. You'd think we'd never want to see water again. But the Supreme Master of the Gather says this is a beautiful beach in the Caribbean, with sun, clean sand, pretty fish and a pavilion raised by the local Branch. Shall we try it?"

"Yes. Maybe even wade a little."

Alan assisted with the first combat class. These students were quite chuffed to have entered their last year of training. There were always a few who thought that somehow a change in status improved their skills. It was very important to administer a lesson which they would remember when they first stepped onto the streets as a trainee. Eric and Alan sent them back chastened. None of them strutted. That was good.

Alan proceeded to the classrooms while Eric took his list of interns and Reaper candidates to Academic Records. Several matches would be made today. The Seniors were entitled to know what they were getting, any particular weaknesses they might have to correct, and Eric also now had the ability to place interns according to their best skills and interests. He made copious notes, then headed for his next class.

He looked at the huddle of frightened, confused, newly awakened students. He got them into some semblance of order, called the roll, checking each for obvious signs of bullying or fighting in the dorms. It usually took Security a couple of weeks to modify that behavior. He made notes for Security to follow up. If the vicious could not be corrected, it was best they were culled early before they damaged all around them.

Since any show of sympathy would have the whole group in tears, he set them off on a slow run; they were clumsy and uncoordinated, and he had to pick up quite a few when they fell, but they all finished the run upright and together. He showed them the showers and where to dump their drill clothing, got them washed and dressed, then escorted them back to the auditorium. He was glad that he was not the one to tell them where and what they were, and why they were here.

If anything, the class size was a little larger. Were they triple-decking the bunk beds along the walls of the dorms?

He returned to the training field to take an older group through scythe drill. Some of them were showing actual signs of competence. He set these to spar with each other while he corrected form on the rest.

At the end of the class he showered and changed. Alan met him near the gates, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Ready for the Gather? I'd like my knives rehafted right away. I may surrender one to an active Reaper who hasn't been armed yet. But the other is mine, all mine."

"Aye, me Light, it's off to the Fair wi' us! Knives and food and the tropical beach. Now remember; yer not in charge here. Don't interfere wi' the folks who are running this. Ye'll break their little hearts if you don't respect their work."

"I promise. I have no duty until the bonfire. I am so proud of them all. I don't want to re-assume any responsibility. I don't think I'll ever have that much time again. Did you notice the incoming class is a little bit larger? Some of them have interesting accents and speech patterns. I think they are being brought in from other countries whose Academies are full, or who are not going to have a big involvement in the next catastrophe."

"None of my new students had the breath to talk. Didn't they once tell you there was no plan to expand? I think they may have been given new orders. We should watch for signs of building."

* * *

Smitty jimmied the lid off a crate of bladeless hafts. He divided them among the retooling stations while others placed boxes of finished knives behind the tables where they would be recorded and issued by large persons from Supplies. A sign on the table promised terrible retribution on any who attempted to acquire more than one knife.

A Junior near the door called, “There’s a crowd forming. Looks like half of London’s already here.”

Engineer Crawford said, “Smithfield, go line ’em up. About ten minutes. Wait for my signal.”

“Yessir.” Smitty grabbed a stack of flyers and slid through the tent flaps. “Attention, please! Attention! How many here for new handles? Hands up. Please queue up on my left. All those requesting new knives, please queue on my right. We’ll open up in about fifteen minutes. Listen, please. Short distance porting needs a little practice. You’ll want to go over into the game field or the rough and get the feel of it. I’m about to hand out instruction sheets. Read them now while you wait. I’ll answer questions. Before you ask, nobody gets a second knife. One’s enough. It’s a secondary scythe, not a utility blade you can leave stuck in a demon or lose in a card game.”

The crowd sorted themselves out quickly. The Reapers in the left line showed their blades to the admiring Reapers in the right line. Everybody read through the instruction sheet. There were few questions, indicating that the technical writer had done a fine job of translating from engineering jargon to common language. Smitty walked down the lines handing out the flyers. A sudden shift of the lines told him that the tent was open for business.

"G'morning, Smitty! Which line for refits?" Ten Hagen and his Seniors had just ported in.

"This one. We've got plenty new hafts, so if you want to hit the food tents first, the line should be shorter when you've eaten. Here, these are the instruction sheets for the new handles. Please read them carefully. There are some features you may not expect."

"Mr. Humphries, Mr. Slingby, good day to you, sirs." D'Acres greeted the newcomers. Fitzwilliam joined in. "Hey, Eric, hey Alan, fine day for the Gather. Looks bigger than last year. Your Juniors seem to have done a bit of expanding."

"Aye, they're a talented group. Smitty, what's going on over in yon footie field?"

"Practice with the new scythe-knives, sir. They are good at very short distances but need a little work at first until you're comfortable with it. It's all in this flyer. Excuse me, sirs, I have to go pass these out."

Alan and Eric chose to stay in line. They chatted with others and shuffled forward until they reached the tent door. Engineer Crawford, monitoring his team of Junior refitters, looked up. "Humphries! And you, sir, his partner? Over here, please. Something special for you. Knives, please. Give your names to this lady. We have presentation hafts for you. Least we can do, really."

"Should I give up one of mine? I'm pretty much deskbound these days," said Alan. "An active Reaper has a greater need."

"Agreed. Nobody needs more than one of these. Many thanks." The Engineer snapped open the hafts to remove the angelic blades. One went into a plain scythe handle and was set aside. The second was installed into a fine oaken handle with silver tracing. Alan's initials and the date were engraved on one side. The discarded handles were swept into a box full of identical hafts.

"Mr. Slingby, your hafts are quite beautiful. A gift, were they not? Then you may keep these hafts if you wish. Shall I set them with the standard steel blade, to make a pair of utility knives?"

"Aye, please do that. I do prize them greatly."

"Easily done. Ah, Mister Smithfield, done with the lines? Please find two steel blades to fit these handles. Size three. You may assemble them at once. Mr. Slingby, I must ask you to surrender one of these blades."

"As you wish, sir. I was going to give it to Iris Quirke anyway."

"Record keepers! Has Reaper Quirke exchanged her haft? Yes? She's already supplied, sir, and yours would be too large for her hand anyway. Jacobs or Fairbairn, perhaps. Here, sir, is your presentation handle. Does it fit your hand? Now this one. Better? Good. Humphries uses a standard small. We weren't quite sure about you, so we made one in large and extra large." The glowing blade was deftly installed in its new haft.

"Thank you, sir, these are beautiful, but you really didn't need—" began Alan. Engineer Crawford cut him off gruffly.

"Nonsense. Enough of your modesty. You and your partner risked your lives to get these for us. Your superiors won't thank you; you'll be lucky to get a simple 'good job' from any of 'em. We, at least, are grateful and willing to say so. When you see these hafts, you'll know somebody appreciated your efforts." Alan subsided into a rosy blush.

Eric accepted his utility knives from Smithfield, flicked them in and out, likewise tested his scythe-knife, and bowed to the Engineer. "My thanks to you and your Junior, sir. These may save my life. They will certainly allow me to save the lives of others."

"Just be sure to practice porting with the new scythe. Have you read the instruction flyer? Good. Keep it. Go on now, go practice, and get yourselves something from that wonderfully fragrant barbecue tent."

They left the tent and went straight over to the playing field. There were several Reapers practicing there. They watched for a bit. There was a fair amount of 'Ooops, shit, sorry'. One tried a longer port which went through the nearby portal into the sea. There were squawks and splashing. She ported back to the field laughing like a loon and did it again deliberately. Another joined her.

"Looks like it's easy to come in just a little high, maybe a couple of inches," observed Alan.

"Gotta be careful not to catch a toe," countered Eric. "Better to expect a short drop than fall on your face."

"Best to do the Gather in dry clothing. Well, let's see." Alan ported a careful three feet forward, three more to the left, and a daring two feet right with a landing facing back the way he came. Eric did a similar pattern after walking a bit away to give himself extra room. Then he ported to Alan's side and away again. Alan followed to his side. "Three ports straight ahead? Three feet each, in close formation?" The first two jumps went well. The third was a little too close. Eric knocked Alan sideways. "Ach, Sorry, me Light. My fault, pulling to the right. Won't happen again."

"No problem. I'd like to know if I can port another person a short distance. The flyer says that body weight makes a difference. May I take you about twenty yards left?"

"Go right ahead... Okay, that works."

"Yes, but you are heavy. I couldn't port you much farther. Do you want to try porting me?"

"Yes...I see what you mean. Our combined weight is about the maximum a scythe-knife can shift. So a rescue can only go so far. To go from battlefield to infirmary, we'd be needing our personal full-sized scythes."

"Two large people probably couldn't port each other at all. That's a good thing to know. Can these even take us between Realms? Ouch. No. Minimal transport abilities." Alan opened the jackknife. It resonated in his bones. "Fine scythe, though. So, this is excellent for close combat and Reaping. As described."

They worked together until they were confident in their abilities and limits. "Well, Eric, we've obeyed half the Engineer's orders. Hungry?"

"Indeed I am, and I've an hour before setting up match meetings in the meet-and-greet tent. I promised ffoulkes he'd be apprenticed today. I think I've found just the partnership for him, Mountjoy and Kendall. With any luck I'll have a dozen new Mentorships settled by the end of the day. We can present them at the bonfire. By the way, I'm going to need an assistant to do my Reap reports and keep my personnel files. They're confidential. Do you have a candidate?"

"A very good one, Junior Brodie, a graduate who was one of last year's interns. Talented Admin type, wants to stay with us. We'll put her under Depoy for initial training. Dorrie'll schedule her with you. It's probably a part-time responsibility for a couple of years yet. By the time she makes Senior rank, she'll be full-time with you and indispensible, probably managing your dead-file stacks down in Admin as well."

"Have mercy, Alan. Let me get used to having a single file cabinet. It's a horrible thing for a Reaper to have his own dedicated file cabinet. Desk work. I have nightmares about it. Console me with cow on a bun. Chicken and pig. Come on."

* * *

In the afternoon they tried the beach. The sun seemed different in this part of the human realm. Alan's heart lifted and sang. They borrowed swimwear and played in the sea. There was a coral reef not too far out, with beautiful fish dancing around them. One of the locals gave them face masks to fit over their glasses; "And don't worry, we've shooed all the big predators away." They could only stay an hour, due to Eric's schedule in the meeting tent, and that was just as well. Both escaped sunburn. Showered and dressed, they returned to the meet-and-greet. Captain Artois had brought representatives of other Garrisons. Alan took them around the Gather, seeing them well fed and well entertained. There were far more Angels present this year. The Monitors had their own tent, an integrated crowd welcoming all. There were pickup games starting on the game field, as most Reapers were now practicing their porting in the beach area. Quite a few Angels were splashing in the water.

There was a great deal of laughter. Many Reapers were guiding the Angels who protected the areas they worked; they had formed friendships. Introductions were being made between groups.

At dusk, attendees began to drift up the hill to the bonfire. Blankets were spread. Angels and Reapers sat together. Alan ported home to pick up his bundles of rosemary. Returning to the meeting tent, he found Eric surrounded by jubilant graduates who had been accepted for training. ffoulkes was positively glowing. The whole group walked out to the Bonfire. Brighton had done a fine job of building it, adding driftwood for color. Eric's graduates watched him set down the rosemary bundles.

"Doesn't go in the fire?"

"No. We're warming it to perfume the air. The breeze will spread it all around us."

"Why rosemary?"

"It stands for remembrance. Its scent will always remind you of a day of happiness. In time, it may bring back many memories of many Gathers." _Of people you have lost. But you don't need to know that yet._

Supreme Master of the Universe Holbert approached with Junior Hopkirk of Brighton. "Mr. Humphries, we have a torch for the bonfire. We'll light it at the barbecue tent and bring it to you at full dark, if that's all right?"

"That's fine. Call everyone around. We have introductions and announcements to make. Do you have the microphone ready? Is Mr. Spears here?"

"I am here, Mr. Humphries." Will picked up the microphone. "Everyone! Call your friends and gather around. We will make our trainees and interns known to all. Representatives of groups new to the Gather may introduce yourselves. We will remember absent friends. We will celebrate a newly declared Partnership. One and all, this is Junior Agent Holbert, head of the team which organized this Gather. Please demonstrate your appreciation of their hard work."

There was a great cheer and much applause. Holbert took the microphone. "We welcome all who have joined us in this annual picnic. If you have enjoyed it, then we have succeeded in our aim." More cheering. Holbert introduced his team, who were given three cheers. Will stepped up again and retrieved the microphone. "It is not yet too dark to see. Let us introduce London's new trainees and interns. Watch well, learn their faces, protect them and teach them in the coming year."

Reapers and Angels gathered, spreading blankets to sit on. As the evening drew in, Will covered the true business of the Gather. The visiting representatives of other Branches and countries were introduced and welcomed. He finished as night fell. The waiting Reapers picked up their drinks.

"Bring the torch."

A fire ignited down by the tents. It moved up the hill, becoming a man with a flambeau. The runner stopped in front of Alan and offered the torch. "Hold it for a moment," Alan told him, and then, "Will, please give Absent Friends."

Although London had lost no Reapers this year, other Branches had submitted names. The crowd stood up, holding their drinks. Will read the names into the dark. As he read, Alan raised his scythe-knife and extended its angelic blade. Behind him, Eric did the same. Others nearby raised their blades as well. The sparks of light spread down the hill and spangled the night in glory.

A high, clear voice recited the Verse of the Grass. Iris Quirke, bidding a final farewell to her original Mentors.

"To Absent Friends!" shouted Will.

"To Absent Friends!" responded the crowd. All drank.

Alan closed his knife. One by one, the lights went out, leaving the hill in darkness. There was a pause.

Alan thrust the torch into the waiting bonfire. A flame leaped up as the kindling caught. Fire reached for the Heavens.

Captain Artois drew his sword and raised it above his head. "To Present Friends!"

As one, the Angels drew their flaming swords. "To Present Friends!"

This year the Reapers wept.

Ronald Knox turned to Eric. "They're learning."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Purple Verbena: I weep for you, regret  
> hananokotoba com the-language-of-flowers


	32. Midsummer's Eve, Part 2

_Midsummer's eve, 1906_

At 2200 an alarm sounded in Portree. The responders returned confused. “Nothing. Maybe just in-and-out, maybe a false alarm?”

At 2204, an alarm in Swansea. Same as before. Alan ran to Will.

“Will, don’t let everyone get scattered. There’s going to be a cluster of alarms, there’s a game in progress. They want us distracted from their main attack.”

Will stepped in front of the fire. “Monitors! To your stations! Expect several feints and a major incursion. Reapers, stay here until we know where you’re needed.”

Captain Artois appeared beside him in a sudden flash. “Angels in the company of your Reapers, stay with them. The rest of you, return to your Garrisons, rouse them and await orders. Expect multiple alarms.”

At 2207, an alarm in Nottingham. Four demons, in and out. Shrewsbury. Chester.

Alan found Hobart in the crowd. “Junior, the portal to the beach; who set that up? I want one between the London Lab and the meeting tent, right now, for fast communications between us and the Monitors, can you do that? Good. Cafeteria! Can we borrow a generator, please? Maintenance! Can you put up lights in the meeting tent, please, have Cafeteria hook them up to the generator. Chairs added in and around the tent. Thanks. Will! We’re setting you up a command center in the meeting tent. Give us five minutes, then move in all the management Seniors, okay? Eric, gather all your Reaper interns and trainees. Remind them they are untrained noncombatants. Give them to Agent Depoy for further orders. Knox! Juniors below third year go to the area outside the meeting tent. Don't let them tag after their Seniors. They'll be our Infirmary transports if needed."

At 2213, an alarm in Lincoln. The Monitors of the London Lab moved a tracking screen to be visible through the portal into the Gather. Will and his fellow Branch Directors moved into the meeting tent. All branches of Scientific helped string lights as Reapers held up knives to give illumination to work by. Lincoln reported a Ravening of sixteen demons, quickly put down by the local Garrison and the Reapers on duty.

At 2218, alarms in Nottingham, Chesterfield, Mansfield. Responses from the Sheffield Garrison, too small to cover all three Ravenings of twenty demons each. Will spoke; the Manchester Garrison mobilized aid teams. The Manchester Reapers ported away from the Gather.

At 2223, an alarm at Shrewsbury. Forty demons. Birmingham mobilized Angels and Reapers. Will told Leicester and Coventry to send aid. Nottingham offered. Will asked them to hold off in case of other attacks.

At 2230, alarms at Walford. Demons estimated at well over one hundred. London mobilized. Alan found himself and Will alone in the tent. They exchanged the rueful glance of those whose duty required that they stay behind.

"Humphries, brief the people outside, will you? Send me a few of the calmer Juniors to act as messengers if needed. Tell the rest it's time to strike camp."

Alan walked out to the group of young Juniors. "Roberts, Quirke, Terry. Attend Director Spears. Everyone else, go into the tent and sit down at the back. Wait there for the call to transport injured. Yes, Juniors, you have new weapons. Remember you are not yet used to them. Stick to transport unless attacked."

Once the Juniors were out of the way, Alan turned to the rest of the audience. "Noncombatants! Party's over. The demons have just stuck you with Cleanup. We will do our best to get even with them. Medical, go to your stations. Everyone else, work with Maintenance, please."

* * *

Eric, Grell and Ronnie ported in together. Eric looked quickly around. This was the largest Ravening he'd seen. The street was crowded with fighters. He spotted a dogpile of hissing, clawing demons; a Reaper would be under that. He ran to it and started swinging his scythe. Grell was beside him, the chainsaw revving up. Eric threw a demon into the street; Ronnie got it; Eric grabbed another and swung it into the chainsaw. The pile heaved. Mitch Sorenson emerged, bloody and furious, and joined Grell in general destruction.

Sorenson's presence meant Fancher and Burns were here somewhere. A quick look around did not disclose either of them. Their regular Angelic patrol must have been beaten off. Another cluster of demons; there. Eric slashed his way through the melee and swung his scythe through the outside of the cluster. Sorenson ran up to help. Jonas Burns fought free. "Charlie's bitten, get him out of there!" The three of them pulled Fancher out. Eric got Charlie's arm over Burn's shoulder. "Chapel over there, get through the door and you're safe. Port to the Infirmary when you're steady enough." Mitch and Jonas helped Charlie towards the church door while Eric, facing the street, covered their rear. The church door slammed behind him. The tide of battle was coming his way.

A sweep of cold air announced the Angels' arrival on the far side of the fight. The demons were thrown back, toward Eric. He killed the one blocking his view, checked for allies. Grell was enjoying herself at the top of her lungs. Ronnie's lawnmower was awkward in close quarters. He'd banished it and was using his scythe-knife to deadly effect, with a utility knife in his other hand. It was a fine display of why he was London's knife instructor.

Cortland and Onayemi, Fitzwilliam, more Reapers ported in and fought towards the Angels. The demons were crowded together enough to get in each others' way. A few of them turned on their neighbors as their cooperation contracts failed. Grell— Grell was going in too fast, too far among them. Eric swung his scythe, ran to take her right side as D'Acres came up on her left—

* * *

As Alan walked back to the tent he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder and arm. Eric. He clenched his teeth and continued inside. Duty over all. Eric would be fine. There were no further alarms on the screen. He walked through the portal into the London Lab. Both Cole and Franklin were present.

"Les, Donnie, about this tracking screen. Please think about the permanent installation of one of these in the London Branch, maybe as part of a small Monitor substation in the Operations Department? Director Spears is showing signs of becoming a General. If this becomes useful, we might want similar setups in other major Branches. Most Garrisons already have their own Monitoring screens, right?"

"Yes, they do, but staffed only by Angels, of course. We're not allowed. We can't even enter their end of the Lab. Yeah. We should have our own," said Cole. "Speed up our response if the Angels are busy elsewhere. Let us think? We'd have to do some major rewiring. Maybe some generators in the basement."

"No, just rig a portal like we have here. Attach the portal to a wall in the destination office." Franklin liked simple fixes. "That would be a lot faster. We could set that up tomorrow. Then we can work on more elegant solutions. Time we ran some of this stuff past Smitty's Engineer anyway. I don't like relying solely on Angel production."

"They're super advanced. They won't teach Reapers. We may not have the tools or materials to duplicate their work. The humans won't have this stuff for decades, and we usually steal from them. But there's some components in the trash I could lay aside when nobody's looking."

"Whatever you do," said Alan, "don't get them angry with you! We need their good will, and we need you in the London Lab. Don't risk yourselves or the arrangement. Reapers will die if cooperation ends."

Cole huffed. Franklin restrained him. "Understood, Mr. Humphries. Simmer down, Donnie, he's right. We're too far behind and have too much to lose. We need to talk to Smitty, and maybe his Senior."

A shout came through the portal. "Humphries! Have you gone off after your partner again? You had better present yourself at once!"

"See you tomorrow in the Branch, Juniors. Thanks for all your help." Alan walked back through the portal with as much dignity as he could muster. "Yes, Director?"

"I want reports from all hands involved tonight. The Reapers who were attacked, the ones who responded, everything that happened."

"Yes, sir. Shall I attempt to borrow some Admins? I can port a few to Infirmaries taking in wounded as well. Once this is all over, I can conscript interns to type it all up. You might ask other Directors to send copies of their own reports. I'm sure they too will be keeping careful records, and there's no reason to make injured Reapers tell their stories twice. We don't want to be accused of harassment or interference. Perhaps a central repository in Operations? Oh, and Will? We need to knock out the wall between Ops and Meeting Room D. You are going to need a War Room with access to a lot of skilled personnel and equipment."

Will stalked off to terrorize someone more susceptible. _He's worried about Grell._ Alan took a seat in the back of the tent, where the lights didn't quite reach. _Eric's hurt. Not too badly._ He wrapped his arms around himself, bent forward slightly. _Let the rings do their work._ He was growing quite weary.

"Senior?" Alan looked up. Iris Quirke was holding out a mug of hot tea. "The food tents just announced last call. I thought you might like this."

"Bless you, Junior!" Thatcher and McCain had worn rings for years. Did Iris know about bonds? He really was going to have to do some research on bonds. In his copious spare time. Oh, this was so good. She'd known to sugar it heavily. He needed it. Look, his hands had stopped trembling. "Iris, can you possibly get me another of these?" As if by magic, another appeared. "Remind me to commend you to Grell. I owe you for this. Thank you!" He drank it down. "Junior, your arm. I need to find a chair closer to the tracking screen, please. Any more alerts?"

She steadied him as they walked toward the screen. "No, sir, the screen's quiet. I've sent Randy Harmon off to our Infirmary. He'll come back and inform us when wounded appear there."

"Excellent. Could you send someone out to find Senior Depoy? I need a few Admins to take dictation; battle reports from the wounded. I'll find a couple of Reapers to port them to the Infirmary. Uninjured Reapers to write their own reports to submit to Director Spears tomorrow morning first thing." He managed to sit without quite falling onto the chair. She moved to shield him from prying eyes while he steadied himself. Yes, she knew an active balancing when she saw one.

* * *

_exerpts from combat reports taken by admins in Infirmaries across Great Britain:_

[Cummins] "Four of us were called to a hotel fire. The Demons came in behind us, and our Garrison right on top of them. We just gathered up the souls and left the fighting to them. The way it's supposed to work, actually. Good to see it happen."

[Hatch] "Two teams, for a typhoid outbreak in a workhouse. We were cleaning up and heading home when we got jumped. Sixteen of them, and they were big'uns. They had us in a tight corner. I used my new knife. Ported right round behind one and stabbed him in the a...sorry. Bottom. He went down smoking. Love these new knives! We were badly outnumbered, but we held 'em off and the Angels arrived before any of us were badly hurt."

[Burns] "Just us and our Junior, who's a competent third-year. Minding our business and doing our Reaps. All of a sudden we were covered with minor demons. Didn't have time to count. We backed into a church, which held them off a bit, and the Angels came down on them. We're all poisoned and clawed, nothing too serious, we'll be off home as soon as Mitch [Sorenson]'s cuts are dressed."

[Sutcliff] "We were on sweep when we got the alert for Fancher's area. Huge group of demons, just a few leaders but a swarm of smaller troopers. We arrived just before the Angels. No, I didn't stop to count them! Ask the Angels; their alarm system gives numbers; they do body counts after the fights. We were busy. My manicure is ruined, blast it. Tell Will [Director Spears] I'm fine, Ronnie [Knox] is fine, and if he doesn't know Eric [Slingby]'s injured he just has to ask Humphries. Oh, Alan's here. Alan! Tell your Scot I know he got that shoulder banged up just so he can make somebody else fill out his report forms! You're not borrowing Iris [Quirke, noncombatant], she's mine! [unintelligible response from Slingby in Gaelic]...We brought in four injured Angels. They're already back home. If others were hurt they went to the Garrison. The doctors will give you a complete list of casualties."

* * *

Alan took Eric home and arranged him as comfortably as possible in bed. The arm would be in a sling for the night, what few hours remained of it. He crawled into his own side of the bed and took Eric's hand. Alan's sleep was heavy. Rising the next morning was difficult. Eric's shoulder was almost recovered, but he kept the sling. Grell was quite right; as soon as they got to the office, Eric trapped an intern and dictated his event report. As soon as the intern scurried off to type it, the sling came off.

Alan went to Admin Senior Depoy and spoke about Eric's eventual need for an Admin assistant, suggesting the Intern from last year. Depoy promised to extend an offer the same day before Junior Brodie could get too settled in her current assignment. When Alan got back he found that Eric had left the sling on his desk while he went out on his sweep duties.

Alan returned to his desk, pulled over a stack of reports, looked at it, and rested his forehead on the top of the stack. The phone rang.

For this he had given up a nice quiet job on the front lines? The simple rewarding duties of getting beat up by demons while retrieving the nastiest souls from the nastiest places? Peacefully reviewing the vile life records of the marginally humanoid who were going to be reincarnated as fungus?

He groped for the phone.

Captain Artois was relatively cheerful, the bastard. "Assistant Director Humphries. That was a most excellent Gather, was it not? I understand you used your meeting tent as a center of operations for last night's invasions. Can you tell me what your Monitors arranged? Ah. Clever. And Director Spears assumed command. A forceful personality, in spite of being so young in the Realm. There is a small problem, unfortunately; the Monitor screens are entirely Angelic property and are not allowed to leave our Realm."

Alan raised his head. He sat up straight, or nearly straight. He'd expected this. "The screen remained in the London Lab, sir. We set up a portal that allowed us to view it remotely."

"Ah, well, that's arguably all right then, I suppose..."

Alan heard the _don't do it again_ coming, and interrupted. "And we are going to do it again, here in Operations, as soon as is possible, so please do not prevent Franklin and Cole from making those arrangements, and do not punish them for obeying my orders."

"But!"

"There will be other similar setups in other Branches, sir, addressing our communications problems. There will be portals without screens as well. They will provide instant contact between Branches and remote substations. I assume you already have such advantages but did not feel it necessary to share them."

"Assistant Director, there are rules..."

"Captain Artois. I have an uncomfortable thought for you. The new class at the Academy is larger than last year's. We have students who may have been crowded out of foreign institutions. This after the school was declared full and not to be expanded."

"Oh. Really."

"And a few of them have speech patterns which are archaic. They're being called from before the current time."

"What?"

"So maybe the coming war in the human realm is not the only disaster we will face. Nor even the worst disaster."

Silence on the line. Then; "Assistant Director Humphries. Your screen-and-portal setup is approved. You alarming, unnerving, worrisome little man. Try not to break any Commandments without warning me first. Good coverups take time to contrive."

* * *

_exerpt from Humphries' verbal report to Spears:_

"...injuries, few serious, no fatalities. This is what we hoped for, although we had to cheat to get it. I intend to continue cheating as hard as I can, short of alienating the Captain or getting him in trouble. The portals are ours, no problem. The screens are Angelic property, even though they display Reaper alarms. Our use of them could be considered as damned souls stealing from Heaven.

"Keep out of this, Will. Artois owes me, a little, but if he becomes angry, it's best he comes after me. Like it or not, you're going to be important in the coming disasters."

 

 


	33. 1907

After two months of Numbers Hell, the 1907 budget was complete. It had been formally submitted to William T. Spears by Alan Humphries and the entire staff of Brock's Section, all five of them. Spears had painfully delivered himself of a congratulatory thanks; Alan was impressed that he not only did so, but recognized the necessity of doing so. Without prompting. They quickly removed themselves before he could recover enough to order them back to work.

Alan took them out to the Scythe and Skull, which had recently begun serving pizza and grilled sandwiches, and bought them lunch and a drink; as they were noncombatants, this was perfectly allowable. The Scythe and Skull was becoming less of a barroom and more of a pub, a popular alternative to the Cafeteria. Reapers coming off-duty could get a pint. Angels had become quite fond of a good Hamburg Steak served on a bun. The pizza was made to order, rather than brought in and reheated. The bar had been expanded and the seating improved. It was better lit and cleaner, with a cheerful waitstaff composed of individuals who had hated their previous jobs. Some of the oldest customers mourned the Old Days when one could get booze and a bar fight in a proper dark, dirty dive; for tradition's sake, the lights were dimmed during Third Shift. As his triumphant Bookkeepers dove into their celebratory feast, Alan sat back and listened.

Artois had been promoted to Major. The Angels were relieved that he had not been superseded as Garrison Commander by an unknown officer. Artois was capable and respected. He had been given two Captains, who were provisionally accepted as having done nothing foolish yet, and four Leftenants fresh out of officers' training. Three of those were smart enough to shut up and do as their sergeants told them. One was an 'arrogant little sod, out of his depth on wet pavement,' who was positive he had nothing more to learn. The book on the date and occasion of his final day was already up to several hundred of whatever the Angels used as a medium of exchange. "Three weeks, done in by his own men while the sergeant stands lookout" seemed a popular estimate. One corporal stated simply, "I would not breed from this officer."

Having himself had Juniors in the too-cocky-to-live stage of their training, Alan sympathized with the sergeant. Alan's Juniors had survived and gone on to do well in other Branches. Perhaps the leftenant would also learn. It had been quiet since midsummer, so there might be time for his education. Get him humbled before he got his soldiers hurt.

Too quiet. The Midsummer Ravening had gone very badly for the demons. Not only had they failed in their objectives, they had caused a series of improvements in communications between Branches in Great Britain. Because of the Ravenings, relationships between Reapers and Angels had been forged. The Reapers were carrying Scythes that did real damage to demons. The demons were not raiding in Britain these days...

Which meant they were raiding elsewhere. Could he, should he press Will to contact opposite numbers in France and Germany? Would a case of scythe-knives buy an exchange of information, open new alliances? Alan suspected that any such action would have to be at a much higher level than a mere Branch Director of a century's service.

But if the French Reapers had a pub like the Scythe and Skull...

* * *

In February, Alan asked Will about Ravenings elsewhere in the world. Will, deep in a power struggle with a ranking Director of a lesser Branch, dumped a series of projects on him that tied him up for a month. From that time forward he always seemed to be very busy.

In April, Alan asked Major Artois about demonic activity in other geographical locations. Artois, completely involved with the difficulty of getting rid of an unsatisfactory officer with impeccable connections, called him a worrisome little man and brushed him off. Will dumped another load of planning on him. It wasn't busywork, exactly. But by the time Eric's new assistant had designed his filing system and taught him how to use it ("Emergencies happen, sir, and you need to be able to find this stuff by yourself"), and Alan had run him through all the employment forms ("If you make her life miserable, she'll quit. Won't it be a grand thing if the Chief of Employment can't keep his own secretary? Sorry. Assistant. Assistant.") there seemed to be very little left of the day. The Academy's demands never ceased. Eric wanted to create a Careers Day where the various Branches and Divisions presented themselves as desirable employers to the graduating class. Somehow Alan became responsible for most of the setup.

In May, Alan conferred with Maintenance. He explained that his Department had outgrown its quarters. He had permission and funding to expand into Meeting Room D. Could that wall be removed?

Maintenance said the wall was load-bearing, but one could cut doors _here_ and _here_. They could be double doors if a support column was added _here_. Would that do? Alan agreed, anxious for work to begin. He had the feeling that he was being humored, allowed a harmless project to keep him from unapproved activities. He took shameless advantage of it. Supplies provided an enormous map of the UK. Alan marked it with all Branches and Garrisons and affixed it to the north wall. A portal next to the map displayed the London Lab's biggest alarm screen. Other portals were added but left deactivated for emergency contact with other Branches. The entire wall was covered with a drawstring curtain in a soothing neutral shade.

Then he disguised the new room with office furniture of a light construction and moved the interns and new hires in. File cabinets were provided on the west wall. It looked just like an Admin bullpen, but in an instant all the desks could be shoved against the east wall, the doors and curtain opened, the portals activated, and the War Room would be fully functional. He wrote a brief memo to that effect and slid it into a pile of progress reports destined for Will.

Will would read it. Will read everything that touched his desk. But this might spare Alan another repetition of the overstepping-your-authority lecture. Alan could recite that one in his sleep. Indeed, one time he had. Eric woke him and provided a most improper and delightful distraction.

On May 27, bubonic plague reappeared in San Francisco but did not become a pandemic. "It's endemic there now," said Eric. "Not our problem."

On June 16, Tsar Nicolas II of Russia dissolved his parliament. "He's an autocrat who is determined to remain an autocrat," said Eric. "He's rewriting the rules so his next parliament will be composed of people who will agree with everything he says. He's trying to silence the ones who want change. They are too angry and too many. He'll be out in a decade or so. It'll leave a huge hole in the power structure. Civil war maybe. I'll bet their local Academy is expanding."

On Midsummer's Eve, the All-Britain Gather Team fielded a party worthy of legend. While Eric acted as matchmaker between graduates and mentors, Alan slipped away into the food tents. He donned his most invisible persona—quiet little cipher at the edge of the room—and listened. A number of graduates were nervously awaiting their interviews. A table of interns were enjoying the fact that they were the only students of the Academy who had earned the right to attend the Gather. Alan knew how hard they had worked to achieve their internships. There was fierce competition for every spot.

Admin had opened ten internships this year, Collections had added an additional three. Alan and Eric had recommended a few promising students to other Branches and Divisions as well. Those graduates who had done internships did very well in their apprenticeships.

Three anxious Reapers sat together. They looked like newly promoted Seniors. Interesting. Their uniforms were a different cut than the British suits. They hadn't been made to order. The material and fit weren't good enough for bespoke clothing. Foreigners? With them was Senior Cortland, his Scheduler.

Alan quickly shifted from Nobody Here to Pleasant Professor. The interns greeted him happily. He asked how their jobs were going and congratulated them on their placements. Having established himself as a helpful sort, he acquired a cup of tea and settled himself near the strangers.

"Excuse me, Assistant Director, have you a moment?"

"Of course, Senior Cortland, how may I help you?"

"Sir, I would like to present Seniors Bisset and Moreau of the Calais Branch, and Senior Bernard of the Ostend Branch. Seniors, allow me to introduce Alan Humphries, Assistant Director of the London Branch, Head of the Operations Department, and Instructor at our Academy in Ethics, Technique and Combat."

"I am very pleased to meet you all. Are you enjoying our Gather?" France and Belgium. They looked worried. Alan added a bit of 'Tea and Sympathy' to his posture. Perhaps he could elicit some gossip.

"Very much so, sir, it is a fine party."

"Sir," said Cortland, "these Reapers are interested in transferring to London or another English Branch. Would they be correct in applying to Mr. Slingby?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Senior Bernard spoke up. "Sir, is it possible for non-resident Reapers to acquire the new Scythe-knife?"

"Shall we find out? Please come with me to the Scythe tent." Alan gathered them up and led them into the domain of the Engineers. "Junior Smithfield, how are you? May I ask if these Seniors from across the Channel are eligible to receive the new blades? I can give the blade from mine if there are not enough to go around."

"France and Belgium, sir? They began their rollout in May. I'm surprised they don't already have them. Please step over here, Reapers. This is Senior Admin Liu. Your Branches, please?"

Liu gestured impressively to summon two ledgers. He opened the first, frowned. He opened the second. "This is not right. The knives for your Branches have been delivered but not distributed." He looked up at Alan. "This must be reported and investigated immediately. Somebody's botched this badly, or there is connivance at a management level in one or more Divisions."

"Agreed," said Alan. "May we issue these Reapers their weapons now, here, as it affects their safety and their work?"

"Certainly. Sigismund, will you please register these Reapers in these ledgers and issue knives in the proper sizes? I have some calls to make. I'll be right back."

"Yes, of course," said Sigismund. "Names and Branches, please? Before we begin, here are instruction flyers. Please read them carefully. These are true Scythes, subject to the same rules and care as your larger models, but with certain important limitations."

Alan watched as his foreign Seniors were supplied. They gazed at their Angelic blades with the same joy that all Reapers felt when they opened their knives. Did the Angels know what a blessing these blades were to their owners? Probably not. They lived in the light of their swords.

Senior Liu returned. "Sir, I have reported this irregularity. It will be reviewed at once, at a high level. I am instructed to thank you for bringing it to our attention."

"My pleasure. I wish them good hunting. I hope the knives are found and distributed quickly, for the safety of the Reapers who need them." Actually, Alan hoped that whoever had them was sentenced to sewer duty for the foreseeable future. He turned to his happy visitors.

"Seniors, there is an area near here where you may practice porting with these scythes. Will you follow me?" They would, eagerly. They zipped about the field with increasing confidence. Alan checked his watch and waved them back to his side.

"Mr. Slingby will be free in an hour. Will you all do me a favor?" Indeed they would, anything at all, kind sir!

"Then let me buy you the beverage of your choice and sit with you. Gossip, lady and gentlemen, I want gossip. Have you been having demon incursions in your areas? What are their strategies? Do you know of Ravenings elsewhere in Europe? Have your Monitors upgraded your alarm system? Are they tracking your glasses and scythes? Why do you wish to transfer to a foreign Branch?"

* * *

Eric finished up late in the afternoon. He'd paired fourteen apprentices to London Seniors, four to Edinburgh, two each to Manchester and Swansea, and prevented one truly horrendous mismatch. He'd explained his recruiting to a number of other Branches.

A Norwich representative complained that London was skimming all the best Graduates. "London selects for London," Eric replied. "The Academy has lots of students who would fit your needs better than ours. If ye don't actively recruit, how are you going to find them? If ye just sit and accept what the Academy sends, you will be assigned graduates who've failed to find early matches elsewhere. Interview for interns next week. Next year start recruiting in April and May."

He told another city to stop abusing their staff. "Of course ye get nothing. Yer managers take pride in treating their people like dirt. Ye don't pay, protect or promote; yer previous trainees got abused, injured and killed. Word's got back to the Academy, entered the lore of the barracks and the axioms of the staff lounge. The professors consider ye unfit to train. None of the students want any part of you. Come back to me when ye can prove ye've changed." For one happy moment he thought he might have a duel on his hands. But Bristol's representative looked about himself, saw that the rest of the crowd agreed with Eric, and withdrew.

He surrendered his corner of the meet-and-greet tent to a workshop on 'Seabed and Mineshaft Retrievals' and went looking for Alan. Cortland and Onayemi, damp and happy from the beach portal, directed him to the Monitors' pavilion. There he found his man with three Reapers who looked like they were enjoying their first smiles of the century. Each had a new scythe-knife, a glass of wine, and a plate of pizza.

Alan looked up, smiled, excused himself from the table, and threaded his way through the crowd to join Eric. "Love, I've got three people who want to work here. Two from France, one from Belgium. Hear them out, please? I got them their knives today; somebody over there is fiddling the distribution. Their Monitors are way behind ours, not integrated with their Angelic counterparts. I brought them over here and Franklin gave them the dime tour. They've been enduring Ravenings with decent Angelic backup but old equipment, poor communications and bad tracking. Please don't scare them too badly. Better ask them when they need to be back home; I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to be here."

"I'll offer interviews in the next week if they have to run home. Are they more valuable to you in their current jobs, able to pass information? We can put them on a waiting list. Things will probably improve pretty quickly over there."

"Do you really think so? I hate to leave them in a bad situation."

"Which is why I'm in charge of recruiting, me Light. You'd rescue them all. Me, I just take the ones we need. Besides, you've already made things better for them. Ye can't tell me that you haven't arranged for the scythe problem to be reported, or for the Monitors to take the communications problem to Uriel."

Alan chuckled. "I probably got a number of people in well-deserved trouble. Please interview them, Eric, and give them hope if nothing else. They'd probably prefer to stay where they are if they could expect an improvement."

Eric claimed a wedge of hot pizza. He watched Alan attach himself to Junior Cole. He had that look that indicated an idea had formed. Cole had an expression of sudden inspiration. Eric smiled; this would be a good one. Probably one that would make Will go off like a rocket. Something to look forward to. He went to the table where his applicants sat, introduced himself, was invited to sit.

"I know ye've been waiting to talk to me. Thanks for yer patience. About your schedules now—do ye have to get home quickly? If so, we can arrange future interviews. But, look ye, ye have the knives now, and soon all yer coworkers will have 'em, and your Monitor system is going to be upgraded. Would ye rather stay with yer friends, knowing that things will get better?"

"Monsieur, how can you be sure we will be provided with all the benefits that British Reapers enjoy?"

"That nice little fellow, over there, who got you your knives today? Brought you here to see what your Monitors ought to be? He's just sicced Admin, Supplies and Scythes on your management and an Archangel on your Monitors. Times are about to get interesting in your home offices. Should be fun to watch. Give it a month and contact me if you're still unhappy."

"That does sound amusing, Monsieur. How may we contact you?"

"My card, sir." He had business cards now. Another nail in his coattails, pinning him to his chair. The shame! Grell had laughed like a hyena. Knox had pinned one to the wall for Iris to throw knives at.

"You can also use this to get in touch with Alan, if ye have any news for him about demonic activity across the Channel." He nodded towards his partner, who was now listening to a knot of mixed Monitors. Two were waving hands and talking excitedly. "One thing, please. Ye don't know him, ye never saw him, and ye'll never say his name to anyone else at home." Eric let a little of the Enforcer show. "Understand? Too many people are upset with him right now. Mostly for helping others as he's just helped you and your Branches."

"Ah," said Moreau. "Understood, Senior Slingby, understood."

 

 


	34. Collecting gossip and making an escape

In July 1907, Alan moved Anders to desk duty after Cartwright asked to be relieved of the partnership. Anders became the office manager for First Shift. He fit in well there and seemed pleased with his new duties. Two weeks later Brandon applied for the same post on Second Shift. His partner Sykes was glad of the change. "He's adequate, Alan, but far too high-strung for me. Makes me nervous." Sykes was willing to partner with Cartwright. Like Anders, Brandon was much happier in his new position. Third shift was covered by an unusually aggressive Admin. Alan and Will could now leave the office at the same time if an emergency occurred. Alan never mentioned it, suspecting that Will would confine him further if he did.

In November a new shipment of angelic blades was scheduled for Supplies' production line. Alan arranged for himself and Eric to witness the delivery, as Spears had commanded. A little careful negotiation got them away from the Academy half an hour early. Alan had made sure that Eric was in full uniform for the event. Most of the London Garrison knew Eric, or knew of him, and Alan wanted them to understand that Eric's current position was an honorable promotion. Alan was known to far fewer of them. His own position was simply that of a middle manager entitled to an enormous, menacing bodyguard.

Under Eric's watchful eye the blades were presented, accepted, inspected and counted. Paperwork was presented by both sides. Alan smoothed the transaction, as both sides were inclined to be prickly about it, and finished the transfer with everyone on friendly terms. He signed all necessary forms and duly saw the crate of blades passed from the hands of the Angels to the hands of Supplies. In return, a crate of finished knives was delivered to the   
Angels. Having satisfied both sides' desire for proper ceremony, Alan began a conversation with the Engineer who had done the inspection. Supplies exited left, Angels to the right, both well pleased with the exchange.

Behind the Engineer stood a confident apprentice who looked familiar. Ah. Student Smithfield. The born gadgeteer that Alan had referred to Scythes two summers ago. Friend of Fairbairn's Junior. Nice to know they'd both survived their first year; many didn't. Iris Quirke was in her third year now. Eric reminded himself to check whether she'd applied for a chainsaw yet. Ronnie considered her skills excellent, and Ronnie was a keen judge.

The Engineer dismissed Alan, gathered up his apprentice and hurried off. Alan turned to Eric. "Ready for lunch? We have the time. How about that pub in the Human Realm?"

"That sounds really good. Let's dump the paperwork on our desks and escape before anyone sees us." Easier said than done, of course, but both managed to break free within half an hour. They scattered promises of a quick return and ported away.

Over a shepherd's pie, Eric asked about the exchange. "You were expecting trouble?"

"No. Making a statement, so there won't be trouble later. Also smoothing the way between the two groups who aren't familiar with each other. Thanks for dressing up for it. You may not realize this, but you are much more intimidating in full suit, and right now intimidation is what we need."

"Did you expect the two groups to fly into battle with each other?"

"I expected both to be uncomfortable. These are not fellow combatants, but junior office staff from two very different populations. It's their first exposure to each other. You kept everyone on their best behavior. Your presence added pomp and circumstance to the event. I eased the transfer. Everybody went home relieved. They've already forgotten me, but all were most impressed by you. All of them feel they've performed an important duty very well. Which they have, truly. Did you spot Smitty behind the Senior Engineer?"

"I did. Seems happy, for all that the Engineer is a fierce fellow. That mustache alone would rout a troop of cavalry."

"His Engineer is quite pleased with his progress. He's working ahead of the usual second-year studies. Eric..."

"Aye, Alan?"

"Would you mind if I gave up one night a week to a gathering of people? Previous students, to begin with, then some foreign Seniors, then some observant folks from northern Branches, maybe an Angel or two later?"

"What for? You bored?"

"Gossip."

"Gossip? As in what's happening in the realms?"

"Gossip as in general news for now. Later it will become gossip as in demon activity, Engineering advances, Monitoring advances, human events, Branch readiness in all countries, and finally troop movements."

Eric looked at his quiet little man. "Ye're going to gather intelligence, plan strategy and tactics, and hide it under the most boring of paperwork processing in a Department that is dismissed as mostly Administrative."

"I'm going to collect, report and suggest. Strategy and tactics are Will's talent. I'm just going to make sure his decisions are based on a full understanding of the situation. Someday he will stand in the War Room and direct us all."

"War Room?"

"Meeting Room D, now Admin Alley. Will knows about it. At some point when things get lively, I'll start drilling the occupants in converting the room to wartime status. Shouldn't take above five minutes. The next time Admin is off in a status meeting somewhere, I'll show you the hidden equipment."

Eric smiled. "Sneaky little man."

"Doing my best. Which is why you are going to continue wearing that vest and buttoning your shirt. Eric, you are going to become the public face of Operations, which will continue to appear to be concerned with bookkeeping and personnel. You need to be powerful and intimidating.

"I want to offer the occasional evening to our Juniors. 'Hey, my former students, come to the Scythe and Skull tonight, tell me how it's going for you these days, I'll buy you a pint,' sort of thing. Once it becomes a regular occurrence I'll expand the guest list and make sure everybody knows everyone else. It's going to be important to have cross-Division friendships. I also want the foreign Reapers to bring in more European colleagues and start building alliances and communication streams."

"So, how many to start?"

"Ten Hagen and Smithfield; Quirke and Roberts, Cole and Franklin; maybe not Harmon just yet, he's still a little upset about the whole knife thing. I'll bring him in with Terry and maybe Collins—we failed him; fences to mend there; probably his first allegiance will always be to himself. Soon I want to add Sorenson. I think he will be First Resident in Junior Housing next year, very steady man, would be a Senior already in any other Branch. Onayemi and Cortland. Then friends of Smitty's from Scythes. Brock. ffoulkes when he's served eighteen months, and those of his year-mates who show promise. A few other Admins from our office and one or two from the main Admin department. In short, Juniors who will be leaders in the future."

"I suggest Thursday nights," said Eric. "Won't interfere with weekend plans, won't be too crowded, not hard to plan for since schedules change on Mondays. Still a fair number of customers in and out to cover your activities. Some of them may be people you'll want to add to your circle. The manager will be happy to have the business. Do it often enough, he'll save you a table and set out extra nuts."

"I am not going to be a spymaster. I just want Will to know what's going on in our world, and for these people to know and trust each other. I want ideas to form and spread."

"About this vest, Alan, must I really..."

"Yes. Take your knives. Will's meeting with Major Artois in the Human Realm tomorrow. You're his guard; at least you'll get lunch out of it. I'll arrange coverage for your sweep duty. You'll probably sit at a second table with Color-Sergeant Bourne. Please give him my regards. See if you can find out if they've managed to retrain or get rid of that useless officer who's been ruining Artois' temper. And why Artois is avoiding me, and how I can reconcile with him."  
  


* * *

  
Alan went back to Supplies. He asked for large maps of western Europe, and its individual countries, collected loose-leaf in an atlas that would lie flat when opened. "I'm going to be marking them up with Branches and Garrisons. Those are probably going to change as the Monitors upgrade their services, so I'll request fresh copies in the future. Also I expect the human geopolitical borders are going to shift around a bit, and probably undergo major changes soon, so I'll be asking for updated versions fairly often. Our borders may shift with theirs."

"Interesting," said Supplies Senior Vollmer. "We could produce those maps, complete with Branches and Garrisons, on heavy oilcloth. No need for an atlas for larger maps; just roll them up and stick them in an umbrella stand. You could mark them up further with a wax pencil, which could be erased and revised. If you send us your updates every so often, we can correct our originals and send you a new set in a week."

"That's brilliant!"

"That's business. You're the fellow who asked for an outsized map of Britain a while back, right? And you posted it on a wall with communications portals, behind a screen. You could have that map on oilcloth, even larger, and spread it on a table to track troop movements. Or spread it over a group of desks shoved together in the middle of a room. I have the feeling that these maps are going to be in great demand in the future, and that at some point they are going to begin changing rapidly. Let's get the process set up and running smoothly before that happens."

Alan was speechless. Supplies gave him a wry look. "Not used to cooperation, are you? Here's the thing, Reaper. Most Divisions, all Branches and most Garrisons are local affairs. Their vision tends to be limited to their own territories. Supplies covers the whole Commonwealth and cooperates closely with versions of itself all over this world. We're a little more attuned to human political trends. It affects timely delivery of materials to the front-line Reapers, you see. Which affects their ability to protect us when we make those deliveries."

"Senior Vollmer, have you news of foreign Ravenings?"

"They cause extra deliveries of Supplies to Infirmaries. All over the Balkans, the Netherlands, France and especially Belgium. Also Russia, very heavy in Russia. North America."

"And of course you also supply the various Academies."

"Big increases in student population everywhere we see the Ravenings. Here's an interesting thing. In other countries, in Asia and South America, Academy class sizes began to increase last year. Looks like a second disaster may follow the one you're expecting. Might explain why our own Academy is ordering bunk beds set up in storage rooms. They've ordered building materials to extend the dorms."

"Monitors?"

"Not so much. The best and newest equipment is Angelic. But we talk to Maintenance, which has been breaking down the old substandard Reaper tracking devices which the Angels are replacing. Maintenance Senior Richards could give you an overview of the stations involved in France. She might be able to find out more."

Alan stood and bowed deeply. "Senior Vollmer, I am in your debt. On Thursday during Second Shift I will be at the Scythe and Skull, entertaining some of my graduates and Juniors. If you would visit me there, I will buy you the drinks and dinner of your choice. Bring Senior Richards, if she is willing.”  
  


* * *

  
The next day Alan took over Slingby's sweep shift. He had a perfectly logical excuse. Benching Anders and Brandon had left a hole in the schedule which had been awkward to fill. Sweeps were reserved for seasoned Seniors. Nowadays most of those were teamed with new Juniors. Senior Cortland gave him a conspiratorial grin and assigned him a morning of glorious freedom.

Being out in the human realm was wonderfully refreshing. The weather was mild, bright and dry. The areas he visited were quiet, the Reapers going about their rounds without interference. It was far too good to last, of course. His demon detector activated, announcing a large group of demons assaulting two Reapers. Alan ported to the site immediately, practically into the tentacles of a squidlike devil. He gutted it, turned, moved toward the center of the fight. Grell was screeching. Angels were shouting. Will and Eric were fighting back to back. Will and Artois must have been attacked as they left their lunch meeting.

The Angels had surrounded Artois and taken him away. More Angels were arriving. Alan fought his way towards Will, keeping watch for Grell, who might be too excited to distinguish friend from foe. A demon on his left attacked from behind. Alan deflected the blow with the handle of his scythe, spun, was tackled to the ground by another. He banished his slasher and stabbed with his scythe-knife. Crawling out from under the body, he struck the Angel blade upward into a third attacker who fell away. Alan rolled to his feet, summoning his scythe as he ran towards Will. Grell was already there, Iris right behind her. Will needed no other help, so Alan stopped and looked for Eric.

Eric appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Rather than interfere with his fun, Alan looked for anyone else in trouble. Knox's lawnmower roared. Vanderveldt chased a demon down the road. The fight was pretty much over. Alan straightened his jacket and brushed off his suit. Will had a couple of minor cuts. He was angry and slightly disheveled. Alan retreated quietly behind other Reapers while Will and Grell reassured each other. Eric finished his fight and strode up.

"Ye're getting rusty, Will. Ye need to come by the Academy and spar with me before classes. Grell, ye shouldn't let him slack off. Why aren't ye and Knox and Iris keeping him in trim? Or is he so used to your styles he can't adjust to a different attack?"

It occurred to Alan that he could save himself two tongue-lashings if he quickly left the area. Time to get back anyway. Eric was now back on Sweep. It had been a lovely little vacation from his desk, but he had papers to grade, a lecture to prepare, a few budget items to hide in the fine print. He turned away to find Senior Gupta cleaning his _aruval_ on a scrap of demonic clothing. Junior Roberts was at his side, waiting for Vanderveldt to finish his pursuit.

"Good morning, Alan. Have you escaped your office for the day?"

"Only for the morning, Chandra. Was all this an attack on Major Artois?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But the demons didn't leave when he did. They didn't mob Spears, either. They seemed most interested in Eric, actually, not that it's ever safe to be interested in anyone else when he's after your blood. Maybe they were ordered to get Eric out of the way first."

Vanderveldt walked back, shaking ichor from his scythe. "I feel sorry for Artois, missing a good fight because his Garrison doesn't want to break in a new Major. They swept him up and out in a flash. He's probably furious. Spears at least got to hit back."

"Don't they have a safer place to meet? Why was their meeting in the Human Realm?" asked Roberts.

"Not much choice, really," said Gupta. "We're forbidden the Divine Realm, of which the Garrison is a part. The Reaper Realm doesn't have the luxurious hostelries with talented chefs and professional waitstaff that the Angels prefer. The Human Realm has fine restaurants with private rooms."

"We may have to come up with something, then, if the Human Realm is growing more dangerous for us," said Alan. "We can't have every meeting end in a melee."

"True. Eventually one of the demons is going to get lucky."

"Not if they keep going after Mr. Slingby," said Roberts mildly. "How did they know about this meeting?"

 

 


	35. BOOM. Ratatat BOOM. KAPOW. FweeeeeEEEEEE CRUMP.

_January 1908_

Werther had succeeded Onayemi as First Resident upon her promotion in June. Because he and his Mentors worked Third Shift, he was usually available in the afternoons and evenings. He sat in a corner of the common room, set out a candy jar and a notice board, and saw that the area became a good place to study and socialize. General announcements and personal notifications were posted by his table, which had become gossip central.

The common room was warmer than the resident quarters, with overstuffed chairs much more comfortable than the ones in the student rooms. There were well-lit tables with cushioned upright chairs for those who needed to write. Several Juniors were taking their ease tonight in these pleasant surroundings. The usual work-related conversations proceeded quietly.

"Overfed aristocrat, suddenly confronted with a situation where family, fortune and fame meant nothing. He expected a host of Angels in full ceremonial garb, honking trumpets and singing his praises. Hugely indignant about being Reaped by a mere nobody in a bad suit. When he realized it was a unimpressed female nobody in a man's bad suit, he said he was going to file a protest as soon as he met his Maker. I was tempted to tell him She was a Cat."

"Nice old lady, said I was looking peaky and gave me a bowl of chicken soup. It was really good. She was glad to go, very tired of the pain."

"He didn't read the specs, just said it would never work. So Les and I set up a test model as proof of concept, and he came snooping around when we were away and poked it exactly wrong. I'm sure his mustache will grow back eventually, the left half anyway. Ted Collins got a picture for us when he patched him up. Set us back a week but worth it, oh, so worth it."

"We found out who'd siphoned off a delivery of Angel blades to Ostend. The usual setup, a demand for cash pro quo. The management there has had a painful lesson in why you do not ever, _ever_ get Supplies mad at you. Two executions and no more tea, coffee or splinter-free toilet paper."

Smitty routinely did his homework and studying in the common room. Dutch's triad were working split shifts and sleeping at odd hours. He had just finished calculating a standard deviation when Iris Quirke left her friends and walked over toward him.

"Good evening, Iris," said Smitty, putting down his pencil. "How have you been? You're well into your third year now. Have you chosen your motorized scythe?"

"I've looked at the current models, Smitty, but working with Senior Sutcliff has taught me a number of useful things." She sat down in the next chair and stretched out her legs. "One of them is that her chainsaw is an absolute misery to clean. And during my apprenticeship, I'm the one who cleans it. I have no desire to spend every minute of my free time cleaning demon guts and ichor out of two of them, and Senior Knox's lawnmower as well. I Reap with my scythe-knife and summon my billhook when necessary. They kill demons perfectly well. Maybe when I'm a Senior I'll reconsider, see what new models are on offer."

"The motorized stuff is high-maintenance, true. Would you like to take a break? Mr. Humphries is at the Scythe and Skull until midnight, holding an open table for his former students. They've spread throughout the various Divisions. Might be fun to see how everyone's getting along. I've an invitation. It allows me to bring a friend."

"Now that my Seniors' infernal gadgets are all polished, yes, I'd like that very much. I've an invitation as well. Want to share a sandwich? My treat."

The Scythe and Skull was warm and welcoming. Juniors were adequately paid, but most were scrimping and saving to acquire more accurate timepieces or other upgrades to their basic kits. The offer of a free drink was a powerful lure. In addition, the appetizers were being offered at a discount for the evening. Alan met his guests, took each to the bar for a pint, and watched them settle down at the rear tables and benches to talk. Alan had worried that they might group by Division, but since all lived together in Junior Housing, integration was well begun. They nursed their drinks and talked about new scythe developments, Monitoring upgrades, how tired one could get of the Cafeteria food after eating nothing else for a few years, and what new features the Midsummer Gather team were considering. Roberts and Ten Hagen were already present. Other Juniors drifted over to join them. A couple of Seniors arrived. Alan bought them a meal and a drink, sat down with them and began a serious conversation. After a few minutes Alan looked up towards the door.

Iris watched Slingby enter the pub. Slingby, as always, looked every inch a Natural Disaster seeking a deserving target. He looked around until he caught Alan's eye. Alan brightened. Eric relaxed and smiled, becoming a pleasant companion to all the world. He walked over to Alan, was introduced to the two Seniors, and sat down to join them.

Iris was pleased to see that Slingby shared the bond. Alys McCain had explained bonds to her on the day her apprenticeship was finalized, so that Iris would understand balancing when it occurred between her Mentors. It had allowed her to help Humphries at the last Gather when Slingby had been injured. One-sided bonds were a very rare, very bad thing. They occurred between one who loved and one who was merely willing to be loved; those relationships inevitably failed. Humphries was a good man, loyal to his people, valuable to the Realm. He had given them the demon detectors and the Angel blades, the Midsummer Gather and a living wage. He had rushed to help her when all was lost. She would have hated to see him destroyed by a bondmate who lost interest and walked away.

There was laughter at the table. Roberts, standing nearby, covered a smile and turned away, shoulders shaking, to murmur to Dutch. Dutch also smiled. He checked his Death List and his watch, sighed and excused himself. On the way out he stopped at Iris and Smitty's table, bent down and whispered something to Smitty. Both hid a grin. Dutch left. Iris said, "What?"

"Okay, turn a little away from Slingby's table. We really don't want them to change their minds...good. It seems Slingby feels the Director of your Branch hasn't kept his skills properly honed. Director Spears disagrees. They'll meet and spar on the Academy training field tomorrow at oh-six-thirty, before the first class. Pass it on."

"Oh, my unladylike word. Do they still have the stands there?"

"I haven't been in touch since graduation. Guess we'll have to bring a blanket to sit on, just in case. Obviously this is a bit of continuing education that no Junior should miss."

"I can go tell the office. Effie ffoulkes's triad is working second shift, I can still catch them coming in, and third shift going out."

"I'll go to the common room and tell Werther. What he knows, everybody knows."  
  


* * *

  
The Academy's weather on the training field never varied. Cool, light overcast, a breeze. Alan stood in drill clothing and admired the effectiveness of the Realm's grapevine. The stands were holding clusters of students pretending to be study groups. One area was filled with Juniors listening to a lecture on field repairs of stationary demon detectors. Was that Franklin, giving the talk? It was. Alan thought most of his Thursday Nighters were present. Several of their Seniors were also in that group. It was a perfectly plausible excuse to be there at the end of third shift, with the option of breakfast afterwards. All quite normal given the crowding of the school. One studied in any quiet space one could find.

Alan had mentioned that development to Spears, who was out of touch with conditions at the Academy. It would have been a pity if he saw the crowd and refused the bout. Fortunately, Will declared himself pleased with the dedication of students who rose early to pursue their studies and of Juniors who took extra classes in their spare moments. Eric, of course, knew exactly what was going on and had already laid a bet or two.

Alan gathered up the upperclassmen who were arriving early for the first combat class of the day and sat them on the sidelines. "This, students, is not a duel. This is a twenty-minute sparring session, although by the end it will probably be indistinguishable from a bar fight. Opponents will fight to a killstrike, break off, re-engage. The rules are: that they must not leave the field; that no others may become involved; that they may do no damage that will not heal in a single day; that it must not interfere with your scheduled 0700 class. I will set a timer to end with ten minutes to spare. Pay close attention to scythe handling. For extra insight, see your Technique manuals, chapter two, sword versus spear."

He described the personalized scythes they would see in action. He brought Will over and asked him to show his pole pruner to the class. None had ever seen an extendable scythe before. These students, at least the lucky ones, would be choosing their own scythes in six months. There were some very good questions. In the glow of their admiration, Will permitted himself to expand upon the subject. His demeanor remained stern, but Alan saw that he would not object to them watching his match with Slingby.

Eric also displayed his handsaw. A few of the students had seen it before, but in class only student scythes were used. He gave them a quick rundown on the different strategies for close-contact and middle-distance weapons. Will listened with rare approval. Regardless of his constant low-level insubordination, Slingby was very skilled and a good teacher.

Alan caught Eric's eye and tapped his wrist. 0625. Eric concluded his lecture and invited Will onto the field. Alan set the timer. He waved and the two men began circling each other. Eric had done his warmup stretches, but Will had not. Just getting him out of a suit and into workout clothing was a victory of sorts.

Will was nearly as tall as Eric and well-built, but he'd been away from the Academy for a century and a desk man for half that. Most of his encounters were of the sort solved by shouting and threats of overtime. Eric, on the other hand, had been a street Reaper for over four hundred years and had never been out of shape. Alan had carefully mentioned to Eric that Grell would be very put out with him if he did Will significant damage.

Will extended his telescoping pruner. Eric allowed the hit, so that the students could see the way the scythe was supposed to work. Will moved and struck again. This time Eric banished his handsaw, caught the pruner's shaft, swarmed up it pulling Will close, and tapped him on the nose. Both men broke off and backed away.

Will regularly sparred with Grell and Knox to keep fit, but Grell's chainsaw was also a middle-distance weapon, and so was Knox's lawnmower. Will was at a distinct disadvantage when an opponent got inside his strike range, and he had not been practicing with a close-range sparring partner. Eric summoned his scythe and dodged in close again. Will swung the pruner around to clip him on the ear. Eric ducked under it, caught the follow-through to turn Will farther around, and slapped the flat of the saw against Will's ribs under the arm. Lung strike, possibly heart.

Break, stand off, circle round. Will was warming up and moving more loosely. He assumed a two-handed grip on his pruner and swung it like a quarterstaff. Eric caught it on his handsaw, forced it upwards. Briefly they deadlocked, then Eric threw Will's pruner off, touched his own chest, and delivered three closed-fist taps to Will's belly, chest and throat; knife strikes. Break.

The ground trembled beneath their feet. A rumble. What? Another temblor. Alan shouted, "Everybody down!" and ran towards the stands. "Get down to the ground! Away from the stands! Juniors, port out! Upperclassmen, port away to the Gather fields!" To the east, an explosion. The dorms! Could it be a gas explosion? The dorms had gone to electric lighting before Alan was awakened here...the ground shook again. The stands swayed. Eric had called the students to the center of the field, away from the people exiting the stands. He had them all down on the ground. Will was directing the non-porting underclassmen towards the empty Gather fields. The stands were holding up but creaking ominously. Alan ported to the top tier and began hustling those who had frozen in place. "Step right along, people, don't run! Leave your stuff and move. Yes, you! Leave it! Go!" The dorms. There might be people trapped.

BOOM. Ratatat BOOM. KAPOW. FweeeeeEEEEEE CRUMP.

What the absolute—

WHOOSH SPLORT fissssszzz!

—fuck!

That mess gently steaming on the ground was definitely demonic in origin. More unidentifiable materials were falling from the sky. "Away! Into the fields, go west, get as far away as you can where nothing's falling on you! Will, keep them moving! Eric, get your students to the Gather fields!"

Demonic. The Hellmouth. The Angels had sealed it, and the Demons were attempting to force their way through the blockade. Oh shit. Boobytraps. And they'd never considered the students in the buildings above, or indeed anyone at all. Because humans were ants and Reapers were ants who had failed to achieve their purpose. Bastards, those utter uncaring unthinking self-satisfied bastards.

Eric, his students safe, felt a hot wave of rage. He looked at Will. "Alan's lost his temper. Completely."

Will always had a firm grasp of the essentials. "Who's he angry with?"

Eric, also a man of caution, replied, "Not us. He just ported over to the explosion site. I think it's the dormitory. I'm going to have to pull him off somebody. That can wait just a wee moment. He's going to be helping with rescue first."

"We can't leave these students."

"Exactly. You stay. I'll pop over to see if the auditorium is safe. If it is, we can take them all over there and leave them with the professors. I'll be right back, we'll move them out and then go see who Alan's yelling at. It may be an Angel. Did Alan ever tell you the Angels stopped up a Hellmouth under the school? I think we've just seen an invasion foiled. But the tunnel's defenses didn't account for the structures above it, or the fragility of the residents. Angels would consider this a carnival ride. Their pranks may have been aimed at us as much as at Hell. Now his students are hurt and Alan's beyond furious."

"Go, then, and hurry. I'll organize these people under their most effective upperclassmen. We'll be ready to go as soon as you report a safe destination."  
  


* * *

  
The residence hall was burning. The fire was at the rear of the building, where a sinkhole or crater had appeared. The walls there were now on unsteady ground, the foundations damaged. Maintenance had the fire under control, but were hampered by confused and injured demons roaming the halls. Senior Sweep Reapers, responding to alarms raised by Juniors who had ported out from the stands, were chasing them down. Security was evacuating the injured. Out front, Medical had already set up triage. Students who had escaped without injury were being directed away to other buildings.

Alan managed to identify himself as an instructor, in spite of his gym clothes, and was allowed to join the search for residents and intruders. He was directed to a floor that had not yet been searched. The bunk beds had toppled like dominoes, but had been set so close together that the wall kept them propped up. No one was caught beneath them. He heard a whimper from a study area. He found two students in there, huddled against the back wall.

"Stop, Mister Humphries!" Tomkins called. "The floor's not safe here." A two-foot-wide crack ran across the room between them and Alan. It was creaking. The crumbling edges dropped debris into the gap below. Small fissures were creeping up the wall.

Alan got down on his belly, spreading his weight over as wide an area as possible, and eased himself toward the crevice. The floor was disintegrating beneath him. "Can either of you summon your scythes?"

"No, sir, and we haven't had any training in porting yet."

"Very well, then. Join hands. Merrick, reach out. I am going to extend my scythe towards you. Grab the end and hold on. I'll port us all out. It will be an awkward landing. I'll make it as easy as I can."

It was indeed an awkward landing. Alan caught his breath and mopped his nosebleed while Medical swooped down on his passengers. He saw Medical Junior Collins among them. "Collins! You okay? What's the count?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Humphries. There are no fatalities yet. Many sprains, bruises and breaks. Concussions and burns. Some severe injuries from the rear barracks on the first and second floors. We're moving them to Branch Infirmaries as quickly as we can stabilize them. Are you all right?"

"Fine, just winded. Take care of those two, please. I've got to report some major structural damage."

Alan ran back to the Security checkpoint, where a Maintenance Senior was on duty. "Found two on East Five. There's a gap in the floor of their study room. Visibly widening. It extends to the floor below, maybe farther. See that window there? Count up four floors. No external crack visible, the marble facing hides it. I still need to check out everything past that point. The main hallway seems safe for the moment."

"Thanks. Fire's under control. Are you willing to continue your search? Might be some unfriendlies around still, too dazed to get home."

"Oh, I hope so. I need somebody to kick." Alan ported back up the stairs. The smoke was clearing. Beginning at the study room, he worked through the barracks areas he had not yet checked. Two Security agents joined him, looking for demons. There was a skirmish in a bathroom, where the plumbing stack was gushing water into the hallway. The water was flowing towards the end of the building; the floor was slanting slightly downward. The walls creaked and groaned.

They found one more student, just waking up from a knock on the head. After porting her out to the doctors, Alan warned the Security station that the eastern end of the wing appeared to be settling. "Any other areas need checking?"

"All clear. Reapers are out. Security's out. Maintenance says the whole building is unsafe. The rest of the campus is sound. Your London Juniors arrived in force and are patrolling for demons. Supplies is bringing in army tents, bedding and student kitbags to replace those lost. Maintenance is setting up a tent city in the west fields, near the gym's plumbing and showers. They're digging field latrines. They're already planning an extension to the south border for a new dorm, quite a bit larger, two buildings so one can be repurposed if class sizes ever go down. Classes continue as scheduled, those not in classes go to the auditorium or Cafeteria until we're ready to assign the tent billets. Cafeteria is extending breakfast hours and will have lunch ready on time."

Classes. Damn. He was supposed to give a Technique lecture in fifteen minutes.

A cool downdraft chilled the area as the Angels arrived. About time they showed up. He walked towards them where they were looking at the rows of injured awaiting transport to Infirmaries. At least they weren't laughing. The biggest one seemed to be in charge. Alan walked a little faster.

Suddenly Eric was in front of him, with Will at his side. "Alan, yer gonna be late for yer class, and yer still in gym slops. Academician Pollard will file another complaint against ye. Major Artois will not be happy if ye beat up one of his staff."

"Control yourself, Humphries," commanded Will, with the authority of one who'd found time to get back into his impeccably tailored business suit. "Go get dressed. I will speak to these Angels." Behind Alan, there was a rumble as the east wing's roof settled into the top floor.

Orders were orders. Rules were rules. Teachers did not teach in plaster-dust-encrusted gym wear with smears of blood and soot on their faces. Academician Pollard would inform him it Simply Was Not Done, at excruciating length, and haul him up before the Board. Again.

Alan ported over to his lecture hall. Many students were already there, grouped in tight worried knots. His teaching assistants were trying to calm them. "Talbot! Hot coffee, dark roast, cream and no sugar, on my lectern in twelve minutes. Rosine! Tell everyone I'll be back as soon as I've cleaned up. If I'm delayed, hold them until fifteen after the hour, then dismiss them. Leave the coffee here where I can find it."

Port to the gymnasium, strip, wash, dress. Out to the far field. Empty; good; Will had marched his little army to a safe bivouac, doubtless adding to his legend among the students. A tent city was appearing closer to the gym. There was another rumble. A cloud of dust rose in the sky behind the stands. Probably the dorm's east wing collapsing. Or Angels suffering a Spears rant with the Academicians providing a Greek chorus. Port to the lecture hall. All students immediately took their seats, rigid, wide-eyed and silent. He strode to the front of the room and seized his coffee from a frightened Talbot. Frightened? Oh. Right.

Alan drank off half the coffee, stepped up to his lectern, took a deep breath, and transformed from Reaper attack mode into the mildest Academic professorial decorum.

"Good morning, class. The excitement is over. Further information will be made available in the auditorium all day. Please turn to page 186 in your books. Today we shall discuss the special requirements of a soul whose Reap has been delayed by unforeseen events..."

 

 


	36. Innocence personified.

Eric had agreed to meet Alan for lunch in the Academy cafeteria after he'd cleaned up from combat training. Somebody had run tattling to Academician Pollard about Alan entering a classroom inappropriately, once in his gym garb all over blood and dirt, and again in proper clothing but still in battle mode. _There's always a snitch, just as there is always a Pollard. If the snitch graduates, make a note to send him to an office which will not tolerate it._ Pollard had come bustling and fussing and fuming across the Cafeteria, getting almost three-quarters of the way before he bounced off Eric. He stumbled and fell.

"Oops," said Eric, upturning his tray carefully over the Academician. "Well, it's not like they ever manage to serve it hot, do they? Ye should look where yer going, Mr. Pollard. Let me help you up." Seizing Pollard by the upper arms, Eric pulled him to his feet and shook him gently to spread the soup and porridge evenly down his front. "Better run off and get changed before somebody calls attention to the state of yer clothing, aye?"

"You uncouth brute! You Scottish barbarian! How dare you!"

"I dare because I know the whole story," said Eric very softly. "So listen, and learn. Alan participated in the rescue efforts today, which I know you did not. If ye badger him for that now, and if you bring this up to the Board later, I will testify and so will the Director of London. You will be shamed as a jealous, cowardly, nagging prig. They are getting tired of your endless hectoring over trivia, you know. Would ye like to duel me, Mr. Pollard? I can lend ye a scythe if ye haven't one. Because if ye vent yer petty spite on Alan or on our students, I will meet you on the field ye so despise. Even if I have to drag ye there by the collar and drag yer dismembered body back in a sack."

Pollard retreated quickly, dripping. Eric turned around and checked on Alan, who had missed the entire encounter. Good. Eric signaled for a cleanup and went back to the food line. Another bowl of soup, another flotch of gluey porridge, a cup of weak tea. Academy fare was not the least of the reasons for students to compete for internships off-campus.  
  


* * *

  
Alan, waiting for his partner, pushed his food around his plate a bit. The newly awakened had some physical sensitivities at first. Their food had to be bland and tepid until things stabilized. The school cooked to that standard because it was cheap and easy. It also motivated upperclassmen to graduate and find employment where one could at least get a decent meal.

So. Hell had decided to have a go at the plugged-up Hellmouth. Why? To kill students, who were largely helpless, before they could become competent Reapers? To thin the future numbers of their opponents in the coming troubles? The Academy's defenses had depended on its location. Before Research had opened the portal, the area was inaccessible to Hell. What had been done once could be done again; would be done again. The Academy's defenders were himself and Eric three days a week, Eric's two teaching assistants, and a few other drillmasters who were only a little better than their students. Academy Security were not up to battle standards either. The Academicians were going to have to think about that. So would the Angels, even if only out of embarrassment.

Not his business. The Academy would have a wonderful time rebuilding and demanding reparations, demon detectors, angelic protection.

But why today? Was it because Will was there? His presence was certainly no secret among Reapers. How would demons know? And the attack on Artois earlier. Was the target actually Will? As Roberts had said, how did they know about that meeting? Alan lifted a spoonful of oatmeal, let it fall with a gooey plop.

Hell's Ravenings were not successful in London's human-realm territory. The most recent defense developments had all started in the London Branch, then spread rapidly to the rest of the country. And Will had organized the responses to the Ravenings on Midsummer's Eve. Was Hell blaming their troubles on the London Director? It made sense they'd want him dead before he got any better at it, before he launched more innovations, before he could teach others or become a commanding general.

How did they know where and when to strike?

Eric sat down with a tray of bland tepid ugh. "Eric, would you like to go back to the office? I need to talk to you and Will. We could get some real food afterwards."

"A moment, me Light. I'm being calm and peaceful at me audience. Perfect picture of harmless, that's me. Innocence personified."

"Eric. What did you do."

"Nothing worthy of comment. What do ye need to talk about?"

Alan sighed. "You've done something I'm going to regret, to someone I'm going to have to appease. Okay. Listen. You need to stick close to Will any time he leaves the Branch on business. Use the 'bodyguard' clause in your job description. I think he's being targeted as a future threat to Hell's plans. I also think we have a person on our grapevine who is selling information. Just be aware, please?"

"Ah." Eric stirred his soup, which improved it not at all. "Major Artois was not the target of that little dustup, you think?"

"No. They came after you, because you were between them and Will. They've had major losses on his watch."

Eric looked at him sharply. "And how do ye know how that fight went? Ye were there, weren't ye? What were ye doing out of the office and on the street?"

"I escaped. I took your sweep shift because I could not endure sitting at my desk one more minute. Lecture me later. This is important. Wear your vest, fill it with knives, and yes, you're right, Will's rusty. Set him up to spar with Chandra Gupta and maybe Iris if she's good enough; close-in weapons. Also Fitzwilliam and Sykes. Tell Knox to teach him knife fighting, and make Will carry his Angel blade. The extra workouts may lessen his frustration rants. Get him to field readiness and keep him there."

"I can try. Mind ye, his whole nature is to keep people at a distance. It's a deep-seated personal preference. He clings to his pruner even in situations where it's ineffective. Getting him to banish it, draw a knife and move close to an opponent will require a great deal of work."

"Maybe start with something like a machete or Iris' billhook? A secondary scythe, longer than a knife but still effective one-on-one?"

"A good thought. More acceptable to him at first. Then move him to short knives for melees or tight spaces. Right, everybody's forgotten me now. Let's go find some real food."  
  


* * *

  
Will's next appointment in the Human realm was arranged entirely behind closed doors. No attack followed. Another, two days later and secretly scheduled, also passed without incident. Eric proclaimed himself bored. Alan, very unhappy about the implications, said nothing. He said it so eloquently that Will called them both into his office.

"Humphries, you are in a monumental swivet. What is wrong? Slingby, are you the cause of this?"

"Ach, no, not this time, I don't think. Alan, what is it? I swear I never touched Pollard with anything but soup. And oatmeal."

"Shall we return to the subject? What's fretting you, Humphries?"

"You weren't attacked on your last two excursions, Will."

"Indeed. Most restful."

"Will, we have somebody passing on information. By keeping your schedule hidden, we stopped those attacks. Maybe somebody's just a thoughtless gossip. I hate to think that any of our people would collaborate with Hell. I'm very afraid that if the possibility becomes common knowledge, many may assume it's Grell because she once had a fling with the Phantomhive demon. But she knew about your last two outings, didn't she, and nothing happened."

"Yes. I told her, as anyone would tell one's partner of a change in schedule."

"Then she is cleared, as we can attest to her silence."

"If anyone is being targeted, it's Artois. They get to him most easily when he leaves the Divine Realm."

"I don't think so. They'd send demons of far higher rank and power if they intended to take him down, and when he left the scene so would they. They're after you, and after Eric if he's defending you. Demon detectors, joint Monitoring systems, inter-realm cooperation and scythe-knives have all originated in London over the last four years. They want to stop these inconvenient developments. They also probably want to remove a potential commander of troops."

"An interesting theory, but unproven. The immediate problem is the traitor in our midst. I have not encountered this before. Even in her worst madnesses, Grell never sold our secrets."

Quite true, Alan reflected sadly. She had given Alan's secrets to a demon, but not the Realm's, and not for payment.

"For now," continued Will, "let us keep our outside commitments confidential. If the information continues to be unavailable, the traitor may give himself away by prying."

"That's good," said Alan. "In the meantime, Will, please lock your desk and door. Keep your calendar hidden. Eric, you too. As will I. At least we can cause frustration. Perhaps it's just chitchat spread in pubs, but if someone is caught trying to open locks we'll have evidence of deliberate treachery."  
  


* * *

  
Will continued to meet with Major Artois and other officials of similar rank. The lunches were irregularly scheduled and the locations constantly changed. No ambushes followed.

Eric made a new habit of strolling through Operations, looking for visitors chatting up the clerks. He spent a little friendly time with each of the staff on all shifts, citing his responsibility to understand all the processes. He learned a number of interesting tweaks, sidesteps and alliances which made the business run more smoothly. He learned that nobody was disaffected, and that Alan was much esteemed.

He learned which cabinets, desks and drawers were kept locked. He made a note of those locks that showed scratches. He spoke to Section Manager Brock, who told him of the extra copies of old, incriminating Admin contracts, which had been kept expressly for Admin to try to retrieve. Together they reviewed the various storage spots. Many showed signs of tampering, but some of the scratched locks were on drawers and cabinets installed more recently. Yes, somebody was looking for information, and had been for long enough to rule out the interns and temps. Brock, infuriated, started the paperwork to change all the locks in the Department. His aides were assigned to move the unused sensitive materials down into Operations' private Stacks in Administration, and to store those in daily use where they would be under constant surveillance when not locked up.

Eric suggested to Alan that Operations' third shift was understaffed; perhaps a few more interns to lighten the load? There was always an increase in Reaps in the middle of the graveyard shift. The incoming paperwork often piled up and extended into first shift. Alan agreed at once, and third shift became too well-populated for anyone to pry unnoticed.

Eric came to the conclusion that the spy worked outside the Department, was present if not on duty during third shift, and was probably getting fairly frustrated by the increase in security. If he or she was just passing interesting tidbits along to chums, the snooping might have ended. If he or she was being blackmailed or paid, there would be another attempt soon. Eric began checking the locks daily. So did Brock.

 

* * *

 

In late May, Senior Agent Werther moved into Senior housing, along with all his year-mates who were promoted. Mitch Sorenson (Reaper-fifth year) succeeded him as First Resident. Knowing a good thing when he saw it, he extended the message board and replaced the candy jar that Werther had taken with him. The common room continued to be a comfortable place for study and socializing. He joined the Thursday Nighters at the Scythe and Skull, as it allowed him to keep up friendships with those who had moved out. He liked Slingby and Humphries, and owed them in various ways from his earlier years. He became familiar with a number of Scientific, Admin and Supplies folks he would not otherwise have met. He rather thought the Academy should teach how the entire Realm interacted to form a functioning whole. He mentioned it to Humphries, who thought it a fine idea. They had a fascinating discussion on how to squeeze it into the Ethics lesson plans. Sorenson began to encourage cross-division friendships and discussions in the common room.

"It's not always horrible, Tony, the Reaping, you know." Iris Quirke (Reaper-fourth) was trying to help Antonia Asaro (Reaper-first) through a difficult assignment. "Many souls will greet you as a liberator when you come to release them. There's no stone-and-iron prison stronger or crueler than old age and poverty."

"We free many from pain and illness. We spare some of them worse fates. Hold on to that," said Adam Roberts (Reaper-fourth) softly. "Remember Instructor Humphries' Ethics lectures. If some humans do terrible things, that is their choice to make. They will face the consequences of their choices, just as we did."

Off to the left, one resident conducted market research. "We've stolen some human communications tech from forward, portable devices called handie-talkies," said Donnie Cole (Research-fifth) to a group of Reapers. "Clunky and heavy but lets you talk with others over distance. Would you be willing to carry one per pair or triad, even though it might be a real nuisance in a fight? Or is it only really usable for larger groups where one Reaper can be spared to carry it?"

"If it interferes with hand-to-hand fighting, it's gonna get us killed. You'd need a protected person in a squad of Reapers, not just a team. Maybe two sets of Seniors working on demon sweeps? But what's the point if their detectors have already signaled for help? I think it might be useful to coordinate group strikes on demons if we were defending teams doing battlefield Reaping, though. Mr. Slingby says it's coming. Try to make it as small and durable as possible."

Nearby, ideas and information were exchanged. "I was in the tent with Mr. Spears during the Midsummer Ravenings last year," said Samuel Terry (Reaper-third) to Lesleigh Franklin (Research-fifth). "Mr. Humphries stepped through the Beach portal into the London Lab and then came back. Look, if we needed to move a group of casualties or a fighting team somewhere really fast and it was too far for one-stop porting, how many could a portal like that handle safely? Earlier in the day I figure at least five or six at a time used it to go swimming. Or is it two portals, one at each end of the trip? No, because we only had the one in the tent...but of course the Lab would have one, right, Les? Could a portal be—um, more portable?"

"You know, portals could have some real advantages for us," said Frances Ferris (Supplies-fifth). "Big orders or perishables could move much more quickly without exhausting the delivery teams. One of our most annoying bottlenecks is multiple-jump porting between production and destination. But in combat situations, you have to remember that portals go both ways. You'd have to be ready to defend against unexpected unfriendly intrusions, or be willing to slam it shut leaving your people stranded on the other side. Your delivery staff has to be experienced enough to find its own way home. No green trainees."

"Combat? Supplies goes into combat?" asked Terry.

"You bet your sweet scythe we do. We're not just a string of self-contained Branches. Supplies delivers all over the human realm. Never a day when there isn't war somewhere, with humans killing each other off in wholesale lots, Reapers trying to keep up, and demons cruising for missed souls. We supply the field kitchens and medical outposts. Technically we're protected by the Reapers taking the delivery, with angels taking up the slack. In actuality, if they're too busy we're on our own. The angels are getting better about it lately."

"So Supplies carries scythes?"

"Graduated, didn't we? There's a basic standard sickle available to all support-services personnel. Good enough to let us port in and out with crates of goods. Those of us who regularly enter the war zones are carrying Angel blades now, just using the pretty end to ward off attacks."

"So if you aren't reaping with them, what if the scythe-metal was encased in a handle as a porting device, and the sickle blade was angelfire?"

"I'd sell my Senior for one of those. Well, somebody else's Senior. Hey, Smitty. Got a question for your Senior Engineer."

Edward Smithfield (Scythes-third) replied, "I heard and I'll ask. But Frannie, did you know Scientific's got an automotive division now? What if you could load up a truck and drive it through a portal, maybe with passengers to help unload and defend if necessary?"

"Oh, I like that idea. Who do I talk to in, ah, Automotive, is it?"

"Just call Engineering, ask the operator for Gustav in Automotive. He'll be happy to talk. Their main problem was a reliable engine and drive train, which they've just finished and registered. They'd love you to field-test it. Then you need a big portal. Les and Donnie can help you there."

"I wonder what happens to anything caught inside a portal when it closes?" mused Franklin to Donnie.

"Doesn't have an inside, just two outsides, I think," said Cole. "Something to experiment with. Carefully. I'd hate to lose Instructor Humphries halfway."

"You'd better not," said ffoulkes (Reaper-second). "He's important. Every time he gets that pensive look, good things happen to everybody."

Everyone was looking forward to Midsummer's Eve. "This year we're going to open a portal to Calais so the Reapers on the other side of the Channel can visit the Gather," said Gather Master Stephen Holbert (Admin-third) to a group of mixed Juniors. "We'll still have the beach portal, don't worry. Different beach, though, last year's venue got greedy and demanded a stiff rent. They seem to have forgotten that they aren't the only sand on the coastline. They can throw their own party. Lots of other pretty islands stepped right up to volunteer. What other destinations would you like to see next year? Historical monuments, natural wonders, museums, maybe a matinée at a famous theatre or opera house?"

"We think we're getting an idea of how angelfire is bound to the Angel blades. Not that we'd be allowed to use it," said Smitty to Diederik Ten Hagen (Reaper-third). "But maybe someday we can bind another force to scythe metal, something specific to Reapers. Perhaps the wind, as in the Verse of the Grass. You're a Reaper, Dutch. How would you use something like that to make your job easier or safer?"

"Stop right there. You need somebody with a grounding in theology and weapons laws before you even begin. Remember Judicial. Hey, Fred?" Frederic Brock (Admin-fourth) cocked an eyebrow. "Can you ask Senior Depoy if her Auditing classes cover that sort of thing yet? She might know somebody who knows somebody. For now, Smitty, just add a pizza cutter to the scythe-knife hafts instead."

"Please. You'd get cheese in the works. You'd never get it out. Your Reaps would all arrive for Judgement smelling like pepperoni. A screwdriver would be better. If the cinematic records won't release, you unscrew the Reap's navel until his arse falls off. The records are then freed—Hey!"

As Smitty was pelted with hard candies and crumpled worksheets, it occurred to Sorenson that he was going to miss all this next year. He wondered if Cortland and Onayemi had a similar group in Senior Housing, or whether the old atmosphere of silent misery persisted. Indeed, Werther might already be setting up a gossip colony with the other new Seniors. He'd have to ask. If not, maybe he could arrange his schedule to keep Thursday nights free for Humphries' gathering at the Scythe and Skull, or maybe start his own on another slow night. Tuesday, maybe.  
  


* * *

_  
October 1908; Alan's maps and Eric's newspapers_

Behind closed doors, Eric sat with newspapers and Alan's map collection. He'd removed his jacket and gloves and rolled up his sleeves. Printers' ink smudged everything. Also, Alan was most appreciative of Eric in vest and rolled-up shirtsleeves.

"This map's outdated, me Light. This little area is now part of this bigger one here, and this one should be its own color. See, the Ottoman Empire is in revolt, too busy with internal problems to defend its borders. This country here, Bulgaria, just declared independence from the Ottoman Empire without getting squashed for it, a clear sign of weakness and maybe a protection promise from Russia. Over here, the Austro-Hungarian Empire is expanding. They've just snipped Bosnia and Herzegovina away. Other major powers are unhappy and a little jealous. This whole area here is called the Balkans. Too many people, too little arable land. Lots of small ethnic populations with religious differences, old grudges and ambitious military leaders, surrounded by greedy larger powers in a precarious political balance. That balance is now eroding. I think the coming troubles might start in this area."

Alan leaned over his shoulder. "Thanks. When did all this happen?"

"A week ago."

"I'll call Supplies. They're probably already printing corrections. You'd like Senior Vollmer, I'll introduce you if he shows up on Thursday. What do you think will happen next?"

"A period of adjustment and negotiation. Serbia, here, Serbia wanted Bosnia and Herzegovina for itself. They're really unhappy that Austria-Hungary got there first with a bigger army. They might ally with Bulgaria to expand south into Macedonia. Bulgaria's aligned with Russia, which brings another army into play. Austro-Hungary is aligned with Germany, here, which is building big battleships to challenge Britain on the seas. I think they'll all step back for a bit until the international indignation settles, then start up again. But it's a wholly uneducated guess, me Light. The Academy's new dormitories are much larger than the ones they lost. All I can really say for sure is that it's going to be bad for a long time."

"June's graduating class was over a thousand Reapers, wasn't it? Reapers, not counting graduates moving into other divisions? They'll be Seniors in June of 1913. You've two assistants keeping your files now. My classes are so large I'm teaching in the auditorium, with students in additional rooms watching through portals. Thank heavens for microphones. They want me to pick up more lectures but I just don't have time; there will be new instructors hired, and more assistants to do the grading. And still more students. All our original teaching assistants are now professors or instructors. I don't think the new dorms are too big. I think they will be barely big enough. Too many. What horror is going to need that many Reapers? This island's too small to hold it. Foreign service..."

"Alan, are ye all right?"

"No. Give me a moment."

Eric stood and pulled his partner into his arms. Alan trembled, then steadied. He gave Eric a quick, hard embrace, then stepped back and looked up at his partner. "Either overtime will never be known again, or we will be called to foreign battlefields of enormous destruction. And then something even worse will happen. We have to push for greater interaction with Reapers across the Channel. We can't wait until the war starts to make alliances and friendships. Cooperation. All Reaping souls together. Gather them in, keep them safe. Fight off the demons.

"We can do it, will do it. That's our job. Our purpose, our punishment. But we will have new strategies and equipment, better training, and we have the angels because Azrael's eye is on them. He will not tolerate them leaving us to die and letting the souls be lost. Our students, our friends, we ourselves at least have a chance to survive."

 

 


	37. 1909: Expansion

Will was persuaded that sparring was a valuable teaching tool as well as necessary drill. He continued to spar with Slingby at the Academy three times a week. After the first three weeks, other practicing Reapers were brought in to give him experience with different scythes and fighting styles. The student audience grew steadily, learning the difference between drill and field and street.

At the time of his graduation, Will had been an adequate combatant at best. After a few weeks of practice he was at the top of his previous form, and better than he had been before he went into Management. The schedule settled into several bouts against Eric or Alan and various volunteer London Seniors—anyone but Grell, who was too strong and too uncontrolled—and a final ten minutes where Will and his previous opponents all took on Eric.

Academician Pollard attended one session, suspecting that Slingby and Humphries were using Academy facilities for personal amusement. He watched the students taking notes, the deadly serious nature of the sessions, and Humphries walking away with the beginnings of a spectacular black eye. He watched a bout where six opponents traded scythes and fought a melee with unfamiliar weapons. This was not amusement. He later recommended the sessions to the more aggressive of his students.

It did them all a great deal of good. Eric and Alan were both a little less restless at their desk duties. Will shouted less in the office; but his headaches still persisted, he could not adapt to short scythes, and his fighting did not improve quite as much as might have been expected.

Alan suggested that he have his glasses checked. Will demurred; Alan threatened to tell Grell; 'Pops' Anderson corrected his prescription, gave him bifocals and recommended a better desk lamp. The headaches faded. Will began to be able to offer Eric a good fight, or at least hold him off for a respectable length of time. Eric called in some of the best fourth- and fifth-year Juniors, to add variety and experience for all. The audience began to include alumni from all Divisions and a few Monitor Angels who brought sacks of a roasted grain. "Popcorn. From the Americas. Good, isn't it?"  
  


* * *

  
After the acceptance of the 1909 budget, Alan Humphries requested a return to part-time Reaping. His petition was denied; instead he was assigned to correct the crowding in the London office. For some reason the project tired him more than it should have. He co-opted Section Manager Brock, who proved to have a talent for efficient layout and workflow. Together with their senior Admin they considered the worst-case scenarios.

"If we are invaded—and if they can invade the Academy, then they can break into the Realm elsewhere—then Operations has to be defensible; most all the noncombatants sit here," said Alan. "So we expand the area enough to hold everybody, completely contained, behind a reinforced wall with a strong door opening into an area which serves as a killing room. We seat combat Reapers in offices opening into that area. We've got four who have every right to be there: Cortland and her partner Onayemi, and Eric's two apprenticeship overseers. Seven, if you count myself and Eric, and if we move Spears' office in next to the War Room. But all of us except Spears will only be present part-time. The Admins have to be able to protect themselves."

"Set up really heavy tall metal file cabinets, Mark Fives, to screen the back offices and War Room. They anchor into the floor so they can't be knocked over," offered Senior Depoy. "They're standard Admin issue, designed for this sort of thing. We use them to direct an incoming swarm into a bottleneck where we can seal them in and kill them off. Mark Sixes also anchor into the ceiling. If you'd like to see them, we'll take a field trip down to Admin."

Brock was scribbling furiously. "We set up the entrance on the near end of the area, with the room running along the wall towards the back. Everything else behind sealable doors off the other side. Maybe a second set of sealable doors behind them. If the bottleneck leads into an empty room...no. A doorway that looks like a doorway but is actually a one-way portal to Antarctica or the Marianas Trench. Or even a killing field in the Divine Realm if we can get the Angels to see it as a training opportunity. Some remotely-triggered boobytraps, maybe, if we can come up with some that don't endanger ourselves."

"All disguised as a basic Admin layout," said Alan, "We're going to hide the defensive capabilities until approval is won and the construction done. We know information leaks out, and I want to keep the element of surprise as long as possible. We've got the budget to build a fortress." Alan and Brock shared a sharklike grin. "The seating for the rest of the office will expand into the dead storage on the west side. We'll reinforce walls, provide locking doors, install hidden escape portals, and I want comfortable chairs and decent lighting for everybody. Make it pretty to hide its utility. Think of everything you can to get ready for a war. I'll talk with Scientific about upcoming developments we'll need to allow for. Maintenance will have suggestions, too."

"Let me do that, sir," said Brock. "I've got some friends from the Thursday Nighters."

"Excellent. Give them my regards. Let's meet next week to start work on the layout. Could we visit Admin to see their defensive strategies?"

"I'll schedule it," said Senior Depoy. "They'll enjoy the break in routine. You're looking like you need a break yourself, sir. Why don't you go get a cup of tea?"

_Planning meeting, 1909; Humphries and Brock to William T. Spears, over a large architectural drawing_

"We've got the building project worked out with Maintenance, sir," explained Section Manager Brock. "This is their proposal. They've finished the expansions of London Junior and Senior Housing and the new dorm at the Academy. Other Branches are feeling crowded but haven't moved on it yet, so we'll have their full attention this year." Brock unrolled a large sheet of paper as Humphries looked on with quiet pride. Sometimes the best management strategy was to shut up and let the experts get on with their work.

"We will take over the west half of this floor. It's just storage, and Supplies intends to move the contents to a new facility anyway. Once empty it will be painted, repaired and divided into offices and cube seating. We will gain a new Meeting Room over here. Reapers then will move into the new area while our current one is being reworked. It will be a little crowded, but comfortable enough. As each section of our current area's completed we'll spread people out into the new offices and cubes. We should have room for several years' worth of new hires and apprentices. Current bullpen seating will given separator walls to improve concentration and lower the noise level. Everything's being rewired for better lighting and future equipment. Eventually, we're told, everybody will have a new kind of typewriter based on the Death List printers. I have no idea how that will work. Research says it will be wonderful but right now it's still in development. Whenever it comes, we'll be ready to plug it in.

"The break room will be expanded and updated. In the new area, we will install two more bathrooms. Decontamination showers will be added for those Reapers coming in with ichor burns. Additional scythe storage here. This room could hold cots for Reapers working split shifts. Medical supply closet here, next to this room for the spare clothing and equipment owned by the Branch for the use of the employees. We can add a desk for an intern if you wish records kept full-time on disbursals. Or a nurse, if times get bad, with a portal to the London Infirmary. The cot room could serve as Infirmary overflow if there was a sudden need.

"When we finish the project, Operations will be much larger, fully enclosed with all file storage in the back behind defended doors. Mr. Slingby's assistant Junior Admin Brodie will be seated by the entrance; Mr. Slingby's new Personnel and Training office will be right behind her. It has two additional desks for Seniors Birch and Garraway. They'll be keeping records on the progress of all Junior apprenticeships that Mr. Slingby arranges, and eventually all apprenticeships in the United Kingdom. There will be another file on Mentors and potential Mentors. They'll handle all complaints. Anything they can't resolve goes to Mr. Slingby, who will likely bring in Mr. Humphries for arbitration.

"Mr. Slingby stipulated that these positions be filled by people who have gone through a full Reaper apprenticeship and are young enough to remember it. He's approved them. They will Reap half-time. When their duties exceed their time, we'll hire another.

"Across from Ms. Brodie's desk, here, will be Documentation's area. Section Manager Solway's receptionist will also have a clear view of the door and anyone who enters. The entrance to Documentation's main area is here behind her. Mr. Humphries moves to this office next to the War Room. Extra storage for maps and books as requested.

"Seniors Cortland and Onayemi will share a cube within Operations as long as they are responsible for Scheduling. Schedules will still be openly posted. Mr. Slingby's schedule will not be listed, Director, as it may expose your outside appointments.

"The Admin employees will have a much larger space, better furniture, more privacy, better security. Those currently working in the War Room will move to a new and larger Admin Alley within Documentation. Files going to Admin will be transported down a dedicated elevator directly into our Stacks.

"Behind Documentation, this door leads to Bookkeeping. Expanded seating and two additional adding machines. The Stacks elevator has a rear door which opens into Bookkeeping.

"Your new office, Mr. Spears, will adjoin the War Room, with a private doorway between them, here. The portal to the Monitor Alarm system will be permanently activated. It's the new display, showing alarms on an updated map which can be replaced as needed. Your current office will become a small soundproof meeting room. We suggest you visit Supplies to review furniture and lighting options. You may wish to consider a map table for the War Room. We suspect you will need a large map of Europe."

Mr. Humphries stirred in his chair. Spears had quite forgotten he was there. Amazing how he could disappear when he wanted to. "Sir, I've asked the London Lab Monitors about an Alarm screen covering Europe. They didn't see the point until I talked to them about human affairs. The Monitor Angels consulted Major Artois, who called me a worrisome little man. He wants one, too. Probably won't be ready for a year yet. We'll add a portal for it when it goes live. Sorry, Mr. Brock, do go on."

Brock continued, "If you approve, Mr. Spears, work can begin on Monday."

"I approve, Mr. Brock. Have you the proper forms?"

"Yes, sir. Sign here, please. And here, and here." Brock gathered the papers and hurried away to start things rolling.

Spears and Humphries shared a smile. Alan said, "I'll promote him to Senior next year, if Admin agrees. I'm sure they will."

"Tell me if they argue. He's ready. We need Senior section managers. Who took over from ffoulkes, again?"

"Marisa Solway, came to us as an intern, decided to apprentice with Admin, also in her fifth year, also very good. She's observant. Any time a stranger wanders into her area, she tips off Eric if he's around. Otherwise she kicks them out herself. Due for promotion with Brock, June 1910. By Admin standards they will both be eligible to accept trainees, and Operations will become a properly Senior-run department."

"What about Holbert, the Gather Master?"

"A year younger, but the Gather's become very much a Junior production. No problem there. As more and more graduates need mentors, fewer and fewer Seniors are available for side projects. Besides, anyone who wants to interfere will have the London Director to deal with—won't they, Will."

"That's what the London Assistant Director is for, Mr. Humphries. A sly, sneaky little fellow with a great big partner. How did you ever get him to start wearing his vest?"

Alan blushed a bright, bright red.

 


	38. A Watershed Year: 1910

1910 was a watershed year for the London Branch. Between promotions and transfers, the staff levels were high enough for a reorganization of traditional duties. The sweep teams were expanded on all shifts. Juniors of less than four years' experience reaped with single Mentors in unprecedented safety. Their demon detectors insured that any attack received an immediate response from both angels and the sweep teams. Fourth and fifth-year Juniors began intensive battle training. Those who were deemed exceptional fighters began serving on the sweep teams as a prelude to promotion.

London began exporting Seniors to other Branches who wished to learn London's methods. Several Branches enquired about the Operations Department. Humphries met with them, explained the public and hidden functions, the cooperation with Admin, Scientific, Supplies, and that most secret of all Divisions, Maintenance, who could go anywhere in perfect invisibility. Alan helped set up a number of War Rooms concealed by Administrative functions.

Franklin and Cole achieved promotion, escaping a repressive mentor. Within a month they produced a small desktop portal which brought communications and the Alarm Screen to every Director. The Research promotion path would have assigned them to distant laboratories doing 'stupid stuff'. They elected to stay with the London Lab Monitors, to study their angelic devices and continue to upgrade communications equipment country-wide.

Knox and Sutcliff threw a small party at Midsummer to celebrate Iris Quirke's promotion. She partnered with the quiet, competent Adam Roberts, promoted at the same time by Vanderveldt and Gupta. Randall Harmon also achieved his Seniority, highly recommended by Fairbairn and Jacobs. The party expanded to include most of the Thursday Nighters, yet remained restrained; the first years of Seniority were statistically dangerous. The breaking up of the training triads was bittersweet.

Engineer Crawford decreed that it was time for Smitty to design and build a personal scythe. Smitty told him of Supplies' interest in something slightly better than the basic model available to them. He described a sickle or grass cutter, an Angel metal blade rather than scythe metal, designed entirely for defense. ("We could ask, couldn't we? Worst that can happen is the Angels say no and we bind another force someday.") A shallower curve, scythe metal enclosed in the handle for distance porting. A longer handle and heavier blade, a little more effective in a fight, but still utilizing the same motions and strategies ("not much retraining needed").

Crawford looked into his Junior's eyes and saw the fire of inspiration. This project was rather above the usual level for a first attempt, but there was no doubt the kid was on to something. Crawford did not believe in squelching enthusiasm in an apprentice unless it was focused on something truly disastrous. He thought for a moment, stroking his mustache.

"Hum. Hah. Build me a standard scythe-metal version to begin with. You need the experience. I am required to witness your proficiency with those tools and materials. The prototype will expose any weaknesses in your design. Version Two or Three might be just the ticket for Supplies. The handle could still hold an additional amount of scythe metal that would allow extra-weight porting, as long as it doesn't affect balance or weaken the whole. Might work for some conservative or physically large Reapers, too.

"Do not request the Angel blade yet. It would delay your promotion. That would keep you out of your next set of classes. I won't allow that. Your education must progress on schedule. There will be a great deal of discussion in both Realms about the Angel version of your design.

"First reason; the Angel blade will be too long for this Realm's comfort. Snapped out of the handle, it's easily converted into a very illegal Angelic short sword. That's happened with ordinary student scythes at the Academy, because the tang's short and weak. Bullied students have converted broken scythe blades into daggers, to kill their tormentors and anyone nearby. It's one of the reasons why bullying is so harshly punished there. Too much collateral damage. Your scythe-metal design, which will include a blade with a heavy heel and long, strong tang, will correct that fault.

"Second reason; the Angels will not be interested in participating in a Junior Reaper's student project. They will dismiss you as impertinent and be very unlikely to accept future communications from you.

"Third reason; it's designed to kill demons instead of Reap humans. That's the Angels' job, and this request implies a dissatisfaction with their performance. You can see the debates this will cause at all levels in both Realms.

"Fourth reason; if the new blade is Angel metal, you give up most of your porting ability. To retain that, the Angelfire would have to be bound to an existing scythe-metal blade. Might not be possible. But if it is possible, and if they agree—" the mustache bristled—"it might give us a clue as to how they do it.

"Wait until your scythe-metal Supplies model is finished and registered as your Junior scythe project. It will be accepted and approved without argument. You will be awarded Artificer status. You will then sit your exams for Senior Engineering Candidate. The Smithfield Supplies Scythe will go into production, beginning to build your reputation as someone other than my Junior Apprentice.

"As a Senior Engineering Candidate and Artificer with a proven production model to your credit, you may then submit your request for the Angels to bind Angelfire to your Supplies Scythe blade. You will probably be denied. Many will want you to drop this line of research. But nobody will be able to threaten to block your promotion or interfere with your training. Understand? Very well, Smithfield. Approved. Draw up the specs."  
  


* * *

  
Senior Admin Marisa Solway's duty included reviewing the daily reports filed by the Reapers of London, whom she considered to be _her_ Reapers. Late in the fall of 1910 she noticed that Agent Slingby was reporting an increasing number of demonic attacks during his Sweeps. Something about it niggled at her memory. She went back over Sweep reports for the last six months. There it was; attacks on other Sweep Reapers, broken off shortly after they were begun. One report mentioned a demon comment of "Wrong one." The reporting Reaper was Agent Fairbairn, who resembled Slingby in build and coloring. Section Manager Solway compared these attacks to the frequency of incursions around the country. She drew a line chart. She put all of her notes and the chart in a folder, and thought.

If she took this to Slingby, he'd dismiss it.

If she took this to Humphries, Slingby would not forgive her.

If she took this to Spears, neither Slingby nor Humphries would ever forgive her.

Her position was very important to her, but so were her Reapers.

Right. She consulted the schedule and her watch.

She went to the Senior Housing Common Room and gathered up the rest of the newly promoted Thursday Nighters; Mitchell Sorenson (Reaper-Senior, seventh year), Donald Cole (Research-Senior, seventh), Lesleigh Franklin (Research-Senior, seventh), Frances Ferris (Supplies-Senior, seventh), Iris Quirke (Reaper-Senior, sixth), Randall Harmon (Reaper-Senior, sixth), Adam Roberts (Reaper-Senior, sixth), and Frederic Brock (Admin-Senior, sixth) Ops Section Manager Bookkeeping.

She then proceeded to the Junior Housing Common Room, and requested the presence of Samuel Terry (Reaper-fifth year), Edward 'Smitty' Smithfield (Scythes-fifth), Stephen Holbert (Admin-fifth), Diederik 'Dutch' Ten Hagen (Reaper-fifth), and Ephraim 'effie' ffoulkes (Reaper-fourth). She took them all to the office, locked them securely in the meeting room farthest from Ops, and laid out the numbers.

"Well, shit," said Mitch. "This is deliberate."

"No question. Enemy action," said Les.

"Why Slingby? Are they hoping to catch him escorting the Director?" asked Donnie Cole.

"If so, they'd disengage when they found the Director wasn't with him. Instead they attack and most of them get killed. They've given him several injuries, but nothing serious enough to put him out of action for more than a day or so."

"They've put a price on his head. Otherwise they'd just avoid him and go after the rest of us," said Dutch. "He's a fearsome fighter, but this? For at least six months? I don't believe it. There's got to be a reason beyond just ridding themselves of a particular nuisance. We've got a lot of greenies Reaping right now. They'd be easy targets if the demons wanted to get sneaky. Instead they are concentrating on seasoned Reapers, leaving when Slingby's not present, and getting killed when he is."

"So," said Smitty. "Suppose they manage to remove him. If he's gone, what breaks? What process fails?"

"Well, he teaches others to fight. He arranges apprenticeships country-wide. He guards Spears, Humphries and the Admin side of Ops," said Holbert. "Others could step up and carry those responsibilities. He's the best but not the only."

"What happens when he's injured?" asked Iris.

"Somebody else steps in," said Brock. "In Personnel, Birch and Garraway. His Admin Assistant. A group of assistant teachers at the Academy. Don't know about his sweeps."

"Jacobs, Fairbairn, D'Acres, Fitzwilliam, Sutcliff and Knox have all taken sweeps for him," said Roberts. "Every so often, Humphries sneaks a turn. He does hate being benched."

"Yes," said Iris. "There's your real target. When Slingby is in the Infirmary, what does Humphries do? He either stays in his office or at the Infirmary, right, and nobody sees much of him?"

"Wait, what has that to do with anything?" asked Harmon.

"Humphries?" asked Frances. "Is that the little fellow who arranges Blade deliveries?"

"Yes. He's also Slingby's partner, London's Assistant Director and head of Operations, plus he teaches at the Academy," said Franklin. "He started the Thursday night open table at the Scythe and Skull. But what he mostly does is give people ideas and opportunities. He takes snippets of information from various sources, thinks about them, then asks somebody what if."

"I've seen it in action," said ffoulkes. "Humphries plans things which make life difficult for demons. Angel blades, the bipartisan Monitor labs, the demon detectors, new uses for portals; it's all Humphries, even though you can never quite catch him at it, and he never takes any credit."

"Humphries and Slingby are bonded." Iris said. "It's not just a partnership, strong as those can be. When Slingby is hurt, that bond draws on Humphries for strength and healing. It's tiring. It can be incapacitating if the injury is severe. If one dies, the other will die or be rendered helpless for a very long time. There's your underlying reason, Dutch. The demons know who's causing all the improvements here. Because he's deskbound, Humphries is too hard to get at. Slingby, as deadly as he is, is the easier target."

"You sure about the bond, Iris?" asked Cole. "I've never heard of them."

"I'm sure, Donnie. Alys McCain taught me, rest her soul. If you remember the Midsummer Ravenings of 1906, you'll remember Mr. Slingby was injured. I was in the Meet-and-Greet tent when the bond drew on Mr. Humphries. No question at all. Kill one, kill both."

"So it looks like the enemy is hitting areas at random, trying to coincide with Mr. Slingby," said Mitch. "We need to keep the response to alarms as quick and as effective as possible. And if Mr. Humphries sneaks out for a walk on the rooftops we need to be right behind him."

"And we need to tell nobody." Brock leaned forward. "Because a couple of years ago, someone was spying. That's got to be how Hell learned that their problem wasn't Spears, but the nearly invisible man standing behind him. Somebody was selling Spears' schedule, reporting when he would be in the human realm with Slingby as a bodyguard. Now that Ops is locked up tight, that's stopped. But if our little plan gets out, it will be passed along and Hell's strategy might change."

"I know a couple of people who might hold a grudge," said Terry. "No way to prove or disprove. I'll watch, though."

"No. You'll get caught." Frances Ferris of Supplies made a note. "I know people who are even more invisible than Humphries. They see everything. Nobody ever sees them. They access every inch of your Branch's layout, behind every locked door. Humphries has always treated them with respect."

"As have we," said Smitty of Scythes. "Perfect. Want to make a multi-division appeal for oversight? Were you thinking Richards, or maybe Cartwright? Or Williams?"

"Um, what?" asked Sorenson. Smitty and Frances turned to him with shark-toothed grins. "Maintenance."


	39. Emergency Call; December 21, 1910

_December 16, 1910_

At least they had some warning. Suddenly the Death List began updating with scores of names. Spears went to Humphries and demanded a map of England. "Lancashire, Atherton, Hulton Colliery Bank Pit No. 3, the Pretoria Pit. Oh-seven-fifty, December 21."

Alan rolled out the map. "Bolton and Wigan substations, nearest towns Atherton and Westhoughton, closest Branches Manchester, Liverpool, Chester, Sheffield, Leeds. How many?"

"Three hundred forty-four, most of them in one explosion. They may put out a general call for off-duty Reapers, to share the Death List and hold off the demons. Please tell Agent Cortland to schedule that week now and give me a copy as soon as possible. Ask her to reserve any Reaper who has experience with mine disasters. That team from Swansea, for instance. Pair them up with senior second shifters. No youngsters. Nobody coming off of third shift is to participate, only those fully rested."

"Very good, sir." And it was. Will had remembered not to send weary Reapers into harm's way.

Alan consulted with Cortland and Onayemi about the schedule, then returned to his office and called Major Artois.

"Good morning, sir. Our Death List has just informed us of a mine explosion in Lancashire, December twenty-first. Have you had warning of this? Atherton, Hulton Colliery Bank Pit No. Three, the Pretoria Pit. Oh-seven-fifty, three hundred forty-four fatalities listed, probably a country-wide call for Reapers, and almost certainly demonic interference. Just so you know. The Manchester Garrison will be the primary responder." Artois abused him for a bearer of bad-news-before-breakfast and disconnected.

Alan's second call was to the Medical Director to pass along the same warning; they would issue a blanket bulletin to all Infirmaries.

Alan's third call was to Supplies, to expect a demand for medical goods and a rush on the decontamination showers.

His fourth call was to Franklin and Cole at the London Lab. "Les, is that new portal of yours ready for field use? Wonderful. Can we borrow it on the twenty-first? General all-Division alert for a mine disaster in Lancashire. We need to move squads of Reapers from their Branches to the destination site without having to make a number of jumps to get there...Right, how does that work? Brilliant. Do you need help to set it up? Can you send instructions around to everyone? Perfect. Just let me get this approved..."

Together, he and Will opened the War Room. A communications portal was opened to Manchester. Will offered the new Franklin-Cole Mass Transit Portal to be set up near Atherton. All Branches could use their communications portals to tap in and send personnel, who could then take up positions around the mine. Manchester accepted eagerly.

Alan was pleased. He'd expected at least a hint of 'blarsted London interference, harrumph!' and 'demm'd new-fangled contraption' spluttering. However, the Reaper speaking for Manchester was a regular attendee at the Gather. He'd used the beach portal and become comfortable with it. Which was, after all, the whole point. This year's Gather had also included a portal to Calais, where French and Belgian Branches had started their own party. Guests travelled between the two Gathers and made friends. Alan wondered if Holbert would be willing to continue as Gather Master after his promotion. It really did need a Senior in the lead. Perhaps Alan could help him appoint an aide from the Junior staff, to lighten the load. Alan had slipped it into the Budget, just in case.

Fortunately the twenty-first was a Wednesday. Eric's teaching schedule would keep him out of the fight, if Manchester requested an all-hands turnout. Alan rather hoped they would, as this would approximate battlefield Reaping. Good experience for those who had never dealt with it. Like himself. But he was an administrator and teacher, bound to his desk and lectern. Well. He likewise served the purpose of the Highest. It said so, right there in the Ethics book, page 127. He taught it every year.

On December 20, Eric was issued a Death List for the mine explosion. Evidently Manchester had decided to take no chances with their limited resources. All souls were to be Released as soon as gathered. They called for all practicing Reapers of more than fifty years' experience, plus younger Seniors ready for this sort of training. Alan was not called. He assumed that Will wanted him in the Academy where he could be quickly summoned to the War Room if needed. He tried very hard to be sensible about it. He succeeded in being only slightly snappish. He arranged for Eric's teaching assistants to pick up his classes and put his own on alert.

Eric left for Atherton at 0500 the next day. Alan sent him off with a calm cheerfulness which fooled nobody. He then returned to his desk; the early combat class was covered; his Technique class wasn't until 0800. He reviewed his notes. He wrote several memos, then set them aside to proof when Eric was safely back. Finally he put on his jacket, combed his hair in case Pollard was out patrolling for untidy professors profaning the sacred halls of Academe, and summoned his scythe to port to the classroom.

The alarms in the War Room rang. Of course they did. A Ravening was expected. Alan picked up his textbooks. Eric was fine, doubtless enjoying himself with a nice fight before his Reaps. The alarms rang again. Another incursion. Alan would just have a quick look at the alarm screen—

Two lights bloomed over Westhoughton near Bolton—

_Time: 0745_

The alarms rang. A third light glowed over the Hulton Colliery.

A Death List appeared in Alan's hand, transferred from a Reaper who could not execute it.

Alan dropped his books, ran for the Transit Portal, joining many other Reapers from the bullpen.

Will shouted at him. He waved his Death List. _No choice. _Will motioned him to continue.__

Alan jumped into the Portal, landed and ported mid-step to the mine. Will was right behind him.

_Time: 0750_

An enormous explosion shook the ground. Alan managed to stay on his feet. Will was guarding him, and that was so wrong, but there was no choice; Alan had the List and must Reap; those with no Lists must defend—

Grell would kill him for bringing Will into this—

Deep underground, no, not here, deeper still, deeper; the List called him—

Here. A stunned, terrified soul; gather, comfort, review. Release into the Light, where neither Reaper nor demon could follow. Another, another. These had been killed instantly in the explosion. Reapers passed him to collect those being killed by mine gas. Another. Over here, three. Two more. Wait, back there. Here and here.

A demon rushed him. He ducked. A swish over his head; Will's pruner. He stayed in a crouch to avoid Will's backswing, Reaped another soul, crept forward. Two more. A demon was clawing at another body. He rammed his Angel blade into it, pushed it aside for Will to finish, gathered in the soul. Comfort, review, release. Unknown Reapers worked beside him. One or two looked familiar, probably from the Gather.

His List was complete. His duty now was to defend and watch for any souls missed or lost. Alan dismissed the Angel knife and summoned his full-sized scythe.

"Will, go back to London! You're too valuable to risk! Grell will kill us both if you get hurt!"

"Nonsense, Humphries! Our duty is clear. We must protect our people who are still Reaping. And you weren't supposed to be here either. So Slingby will also want to kill us, and will have to wait his turn. Not something he's good at, in my experience."

"Will, down!" Alan beheaded the demon behind Will, covering them both with a spray of blood, not ichor. One of the mammalian or avian types. The blood burned.

As the collecting Reapers moved farther along the mineshaft, Alan and Will stayed in place to prevent more demons from following. Will had improved out of all recognition by keeping up with the sparring sessions. He was handling close-in fighting better too, now that he had his bifocals. Will's eyesight was really very poor. Alan would make a note of scheduling him regular appointments with Spectacles. Just as soon as there were fewer demons in the way.

Harmon joined them, completed List in his breast pocket, and helped with the onslaught. Joined soon after by Ten Hagen. They seemed also to be defending Will. Excellent. The demons were still coming. Alan turned to shield Will from another attack from the right side of the mineshaft.

Spears moved to the left as a new group of demons arrived. One of them was pointing and shouting. "That's him! Get him! Get him, get him!" Harmon swung his scythe behind the shouter's knees and Ten Hagen delivered a powerful whack to the side of the head. Will stepped up to defend Harmon as Ten Hagen quickly pulled the demon aside. Spears assumed that he was trying to get it out from underfoot. He and Harmon engaged the rest of the group. Alan rejoined them from across the shaft. Ten Hagen returned and joined in.

Another demon ran in. Alan gutted it, turned and struck at another. His scythe stuck in its ribs. It took a moment to yank free, but Harmon protected him from the side, and both of them turned to help Will. Ten Hagen moved to kill a demon trying to run past them to attack from their rear.

More Reapers came back up the shaft to join the fight. Iris Quirke was there, and with a roar Grell appeared, chainsaw spreading destruction. Eric arrived, yelling curses. Another roar, this time behind the demons. Knox, Mountjoy and Kendall, Fairbairn, Burns, all coming to trap the demons between two groups of Reapers. Behind them came the Angels, swinging swords of fire.  
  


* * *

  
Iris did the reconnaissance; she was best at looking innocent. After her sortie she returned to the mineshaft where Harmon and Ten Hagen waited with their prisoner.

"Director Spears has returned to London, so Grell can yell at him in private. The Angels are poking about the towns for escaped demons. All the souls are accounted for. Slingby's scolding Humphries, who's scolding back. They'll be off to kiss and make up any moment now. Mitch is keeping an eye on them. Everybody else is heading home."

"Dandy," said Harmon. "Let's give it just a minute. I want everybody well away before we move this fellow to Judicial for questioning."

"Senior Goodfellow is waiting for us in Admin with an escort," said Iris. "It's safer for us if Auditing's involved."

The demon, securely bound in port-proof ties and suffering a pounding headache, snarled. "I fear none of you, Reapers!"

"And we're not afraid of you, demon. But you should be afraid of Judicial," said Ten Hagen softly. "Because they _terrify_ us."  
  


* * *

_  
0945 at the Cafeteria, tea after cleanup: Quirke, Roberts, Solway, Brock, Smitty, Dutch, Harmon and Sorenson_

Iris smiled at the people around the table. "Senior Goodfellow delivered the demon to Judicial. They'll ask why the demons are targeting Humphries, which we know already, but now it'll be on record. If there is any attempt to allow the demon to escape, or to kill it before it can be questioned, or if anyone comes after us, that will reveal any collaborators that may still exist in Research or elsewhere. Sarah says it's quite the nicest present anyone could give her. It's the least I can do to repay her and Agent D'Acres for taking me in when my first Mentors died."

"The restraints I gave you kept it confined, I assume?" asked Smitty. "I'll need to follow up that line of research if they were fully effective."

"Worked a treat, Smitty. Good job." Harmon sipped his tea. "Can you give us more if we need them?"

"Our inventories are meticulously recorded. I can't hide any more materials as wastage. I'll produce a new set under proper supervision, present it for testing, and we can get them issued as optional equipment. Shouldn't take too long. Or, if I can borrow your demon back for demonstration purposes, complete with the restraints, we'll have approval same-day. I'll have to explain why they weren't constructed according to the required procedures anyway."

"So," said Mitch, "if our slightly dented demon tells all, the Higher Ups will tell Slingby he's being targeted, and why. They'll put fences around Humphries, as much as they can, given his need to get out once in a while. He'll hate it but he'll cooperate. Mostly. We'd better watch him for signs of rebellion, and step up if another disaster pulls him into active Reaping."

"If the Higher Ups agree that he's valuable, they'll put him on a no-call list," said Marisa Solway. "Might not apply in an emergency like this one, though. A Death List transferred from a dead or crippled Reaper has to be completed. I can talk to Cortland and Onayemi, ask them to refuse his offers to fill in when somebody's injured. That won't keep him from dropping into the human realm to walk over to the London Lab, or to sneak out to eat lunch in a pub, or just to sit on the rooftops when he's feeling chained."

"I know that they've piled work on him when he asked questions they didn't want him to pursue," said Brock. "They've given him protection but not the reasoning behind it. They've left him feeling he's considered such an incompetent Reaper that they prefer to send his partner out alone. He soldiers along, behaving until he's sick of it and sees a chance to go over the wall."

"I think Humphries and Slingby both would be ready to secede if they weren't blowing off steam teaching combat and sparring with Spears. They are genuinely concerned for their students, which is a firm anchor," mused Roberts. "Whether that's enough to hold them in place forever is uncertain. We have to continue as before, to observe and protect as much as we can. Our lives will be a lot easier if we can keep them here, doing what they're doing."

"The Thursday night meetings give Humphries a feeling of still belonging," said Dutch. "He can hobnob with other Reapers as well as all the friends he's made around the Realm. Somebody's trying hard to turn him into an Academic or an Admin. It's not going to work, any more than it's working with Slingby. If they are pushed too hard, they could transfer to another Branch as a Reaping partnership."

"Transfer would be blocked under the 'essential personnel' rule," said Marisa. "Which would tell them that somebody is restricting their duties."

"Please. Slingby knows. Slingby's part of it," said Harmon. "I watched him scold his partner for Reaping today, as if Humphries had a choice. It's not just anger, it's worry. Humphries is very fast and very good, but he's also small and sometimes reckless. Which just means, like all of us, he needs to work with a partner. But he's been denied even that, locked up while Slingby goes off alone on Sweep duty. Might also be self-preservation on Slingby's part, if the bond is all you say it is, Iris."

"The bond is everything I say it is, and it will cause trouble. Obviously they themselves don't understand it fully. The current situation affects the bond. It essentially tethers Humphries to Slingby as a mere source of healing when he's injured. That can't last. The bond seeks a balance between equals, not between an owner and a pet. Expect more escapes, more arguments, a demand to be allowed a choice or at least an explanation. Keep hoping for final complete honesty between them. If Slingby can convince Humphries that his safety is essential to the future of our Branch and Realm, then Humphries will have a reason to behave. But without that explanation, Spears can't command his cooperation, and the Higher Ups can't force it, and all we can do is what we're doing."

"Why don't they teach this stuff?" groused Brock. "Yes, it's rare, but still!"

Smitty shrugged. "Efficiency and economy. They prefer small plug-ins to solid-state modules."

"Dutch, will you please translate from Engineering into Reaper?"

"My pleasure, Fred. Smitty says that, to Management, one dead Reaper and a surviving partner beats two dead Reapers any old day. They keep it secret because they consider the knowledge counterproductive. Sorry, folks, I need to get back. Spears saw me in the mine. He's going to want to know why I was there. I'll have to tell him."

"Me, too," said Smitty. "I have to warn my Engineer that I've been guilty of unsupervised fabrication. That, Fred, means I have been tinkering with dangerous materials without telling him. He'll not be pleased. Dutch and I are the only people here who will be in real trouble, for actions forbidden to Juniors. Everybody else lie low."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome!


	40. Lovers' Quarrel

"What are ye doing here, Alan! Ye should not be here!"

Which was just the outside of enough. Alan simply held up the Death List. Eric spluttered to a stop, took a deep breath. "Are ye all right, Alan?"

"Of course I am. I Reaped as any Reaper should, fought as any Reaper would, and returned unharmed just like most of the Reapers did. Does that surprise you?"

"I am not a bit surprised. I am concerned for my partner. Who is covered in sticky steaming red stuff, which I know can't be his, but it's still alarming. You need a shower and a change of clothes."

"Do not try to jolly me."

Eric knew that it was time to retreat to a safer position. "I'm splashed, me Light. Can we port to the showers?"

Alan deflated. A little, but even a little was good. "Yes, of course. I'm burning too. If we hurry I may be able to save this suit."

They used the Mass Transit portal to get to the London Supplies depot and joined a crowd of Reapers in various states of undress. Alan washed off, pulled a bathrobe from the racks, and bagged his suit to be cleaned. Having turned it in, he ported directly home. He was buttoning a fresh shirt when Eric joined him.

"Good, ye're almost healed."

"Rat and bat demons, toxins more in bite than blood. My suit will probably still be wearable if Will doesn't look too closely. Yourself?"

"Trousers should be fine. Gloves are hopeless, not sure about jacket sleeves or vest. But Alan, where did that List come from?"

"It popped into my hands. I assume a Reaper was injured in one of the incursions. Standard emergency reassignment, I think."

"That shouldn't have—" Eric stopped.

Silence.

Alan looked up, and saw, even unto the farthest blade of grass.

"You've arranged this."

"Alan—"

"You've had me benched. Do you think me so weak, then? So unskilled? So cowardly that I would not execute a List assigned to me?" Alan threw on his vest and tie.

"Alan—"

"Would you have me transfer to Admin, as unworthy to hold a Reaper's job? Would you have me become another Pollard, never to leave campus again, to teach what I cannot do, to scold and envy those more skilled? Didn't I just partner Will and keep him safe?" Alan grabbed his jacket.

"Alan, wait—"

"What did you offer Will to demote me to noncombatant? Or did he decide on his own that I can't carry my weight any more? Is that why I am in an administrative Department, locked up in the back of the Branch? Is he only keeping me here to keep you, rather than send us both to some tiny village where even I could Reap?"

"Alan!"

But Alan was gone.  
  


* * *

  
Spears was working on his incident report when Slingby knocked at his door. "Will! Can ye track Alan's glasses?"

Spears looked at the misbuttoned vest, skewed tie, wild eyes, and deduced a personal emergency was in progress. "Not in his office or anywhere on this floor, then?"

"His office is locked. I think he's ported out somewhere. He's not injured, but he's upset and angry. I can't find him, Will!"

"Since you know he's unhurt, perhaps we should let him cool down a bit? Who's he upset with?"

"Meself, mostly, though a wee slice of this pie may become yours."

"He's realized you requested his retirement from Reaping, has he? Grell's been warning me that he'd jump to the wrong conclusions. She said he'd assume that we consider him unfit. You should have explained to him in full. My standing orders to keep him in the Realm and very busy are a part of that, then. How did you get Madame to agree to it?"

"I've been submitting a weekly report on the political news in the human realm. In return, she's agreed to save him from battlefield Reaping."

"Which resulted in keeping him from Reaping at all. But, nevertheless, he was summoned today. I followed him, as is required. He's really very skilled, you know. You shouldn't worry about him so much."

"I cannae lose him, Will." A tiny note of an old madness echoed faintly. Spears heard it and tapped a finger on his desk.

"Let us consider, then. Today a number of unusual things happened. Your partner, though not on active duty, was summoned to Reap. As this was an emergency and not a battlefield, that is understandable.

"He obeyed the call, and as the nearest uncalled Senior I followed to guard his Reaping. We performed our duties—admirably, I might add—and held the entrance to the Number Three mineshaft against attacking demons. We were joined by other Reapers who had finished their assignments and who came to help. Nothing unusual there, of course. The Angels arrived soon after.

"However, during the fight, I distinctly heard a demon point out Humphries as a target. Two of our agents immediately put that demon down. One of those agents was a fifth-year. A very good agent, but still a Junior. Mr. Ten Hagen should not have been there. He bound the demon and rolled him aside. Bound him, Slingby. I detect a new development from Ten Hagen's talented friend in Scythes.

"Humphries has stated in the past that I was marked for demonic attacks. I now believe he was incorrect. The target all along was you; the goal was to incapacitate Humphries. Hell has learned that the scythe-knives came from him. That's common knowledge. Possibly they also know that he encouraged development of the demon detectors, the various uses of portals, and the increasing cooperation between Branches, Divisions and Garrisons. They obviously know about your bond. Your own decreased street time must be driving them mad with frustration.

"From this I infer that Humphries has been marked by Hell for extermination; that Humphries is being protected by some of our younger Reapers, who became aware of the situation before we did, and who felt they had reason not to bring this to us; and that sometime today Judicial will inform me that a demon under questioning has confirmed a plan to remove Humphries at any cost. Do you agree?"

"Aye. Where is he, Will?"

Will paused a moment, eyes losing focus slightly. "He's at the Academy, in the Postgraduate Library. Third floor. South side, stationary, probably reading. He may be researching your bond. Go find him. Tell him the truth, Slingby, all of it. Omit nothing. Apologize. Then get back here. Both of you have collection reports to submit.

"Oh, and Slingby? On your way out, send Ten Hagen to me."  
  


* * *

  
Ten Hagen was working on his quarterly report when Slingby blew by in a godawful hurry. "Junior. Spears wants you in his office." That was no surprise at all; he'd known he was dead when he saw Spears in the mineshaft. He stood, straightened his tie, and turned to face his Seniors. He managed a wry smile. "Sirs, I have been caught in a transgression. Please arrange for my remains to receive a decent burial."

D'Acres raised an eyebrow.

Fitzwilliam tossed down his pen. "I'm coming."

"Senior, this is not necessary."

"You are my apprentice. Your actions are my responsibility and reflect on my teaching abilities. I am both determined and entitled to be part of this discussion. Spears knows he can't shout me down; I was a Senior long before he entered the Academy. I backed up Slingby when Slingby taught him what a manager could not do to anyone but Sutcliff. You will have a fair hearing in my presence."

D'Acres rose. "You will answer his questions, and ours, fully and honestly. To your credit, you are not a good liar. If we bid you to be silent, stop at once and let us speak for you. Afterwards you will tell us everything you did not tell him."

"Thank you, sirs. I have done nothing that would shame you."

"Except for getting caught." Fitzwilliam pulled on his jacket. "We'll talk about that later. Let's go."

Having his Seniors at his back was reassuring. Seeing Director Spears standing behind his desk was still daunting. Ten Hagen went to attention. His Seniors behind him were probably crossing their arms and assuming expressions of mild interest. Spears caught their eyes, gestured to chairs, sat down himself and said "At ease, Junior Ten Hagen. Explain to me what a Reaper of Junior rank was doing at the Pretoria Pit today."

"Sir, I brought supplies to a Reaper of Senior rank and stayed to help defend the passageway."

"What supplies did you bring?"

"Restraints, sir."

"Those were the restraints with which you bound the demon?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I contact Engineer Crawford will I learn that those restraints are an unapproved experiment of Junior Smithfield's?"

"Fishing, Mr. Spears," interposed Fitzwilliam. "Also irrelevant."

"Mr. Fitzwilliam, I do not wish to prosecute Mr. Smithfield. The restraints worked, and I would like to see them added to our supply list. They were Smithfield's make, were they not?"

"You may answer, Junior."

"Yes, sir. Smitty says if the bound demon can be presented to the approval board, the restraints can go into production very quickly."

"Now, Junior Ten Hagen, I would very much like to know why an unnamed Senior wished to bind this demon."

"Sir, it came to an unnamed Senior's notice that Mr. Slingby has experienced demonic attacks far more often than any other Reaper over the last several months. Another unnamed Senior proposed that the underlying purpose was to kill or disable Mr. Humphries through their bond, preventing him from coming up with any further developments like the Angel blade. Therefore we proposed to catch a demon to hand over to Judicial for questioning. We were fortunate to encounter one in the Pretoria Pit who obviously knew of such a plan."

"And you took him down very efficiently, bound him, hid him, and finished the fight. Then what?"

"Sir, when Angels and Reapers had cleared the area, the Demon was turned over to Judicial. About an hour ago."

"Junior Ten Hagen, I agree with you that Humphries is the secondary target of the attacks on Slingby. We have endeavored to protect him by reducing his time in the human realm."

"Permission to express a personal opinion, sirs?"

"Granted, Junior Ten Hagen."

"Agreed," said Fitzwilliam.

"It's damaging Mr. Humphries. Perhaps you've noticed he hasn't been as innovative recently. He is shamed. He feels he's been judged incompetent and exiled into an unnecessary job. He fears he'll be pushed into Admin or the Academy while Mr. Slingby will be assigned a new Reaping partner. He walks alone outside the Realm, because his own partner would insist he stay locked up. Nobody notices, because he goes so many places during his shift. We think that's why he has never taken a personal assistant. He doesn't want to be tracked by a jailer.

"Unnamed Reapers have agreed to keep watch over him, guard him as much as possible when he escapes, but it's difficult as his duties and patterns are so different from ours. Anyone who attends the Thursday Nights at the Scythe and Skull can see the change in him. Personal opinion ended, sirs."

"Your personal opinion is taken under advisement, Junior Ten Hagen. Seniors, do you agree with all or part of this opinion?"

"All," said Fitzwilliam.

"Somewhat understated, actually," said D'Acres. "You are dealing with a depression-prone person who jumps to conclusions. Bad combination when you keep secrets from him. And yes, his production of fresh ideas has slowed. You are doing the demons' job for them. I suggest you stop."

"Another thing," said Fitzwilliam. "Change Slingby's schedule. It's too regular for someone who's being targeted. Everybody and his aunt knows he Sweeps first shift on the same three days every week; the only question is where. Cortland wouldn't allow that unless she was under orders. I'm surprised he's still alive, since you've removed his partner and not assigned another Reaper to back him up."

D'Acres, at his starchiest, fixed Spears with a freezing eye. "Over the last six years Humphries has saved the lives of every Reaper in this Realm ten times over. Many people, not only Reapers, owe him personal debts over and above that. The treatment he has received in return is destroying him. He is entitled to a full explanation. And then all of you, including him, must cooperate to make his life bearable as well as safe."

"Very well, gentlemen. Your opinions will be considered."

"Damn well better be," murmured Fitzwilliam.

"Quite," said D'Acres.

"Junior Ten Hagen, you will confine yourself to the duties permitted a Junior. I leave your discipline to your Mentors. I expect that Judicial will contact me when the demon's interrogation is complete. I will mention Junior Smithfield's request for a presentation of the demon in restraints to Engineering's Device Approval Board. That is all, sirs. Return to your duties."

Back in their office, Ten Hagen fell into his chair. "Ready for burial, sirs."

Fitzwilliam closed the door. "Not yet, you aren't. Talk."  
  


* * *

  
The Academy campus had been rebuilt and redesigned many times since Eric had been a student. His current knowledge of the layout was limited to those areas where he and Alan taught and ate. He had no idea where a Postgraduate Library might be hidden. The Teacher's Lounge provided a professor who gave him directions. He walked down a wide path among trees forever caught in the bright colors of autumn. Someone's dim memory of a day centuries gone.

The Postgraduate Library was one of a group of buildings comprising the Scientific laboratories and advanced education classrooms. Sensible enough. He presented his credentials and won access to a large building which smelled of furniture polish, ink and old paper. Third floor, south side, a long corridor lined with study carrels. Unwindowed with locking doors.

Somewhere here—this one. He knocked gently.

Silence. He waited a moment, tapped again. Alan knew he was here. The anger was still there, but controlled. Eric was in such trouble. A rustle within. The door opened. Alan held three books and a notepad. He stepped out into the hall, nodded toward the staircase, and walked away. Eric followed in silence. Library, after all.

At the front desk Alan checked out his books. They left the building.

"Alan—"

"Not here."

Aye, students everywhere; the campus was a rumor mill. No point in giving Pollard another stick to beat them with.

"Where, then?"

"Home."

"Walls too thin, neighbors on second and third shifts. Human realm?"

"December, wind and rain and wet snow."

Well, that did eliminate pretty much all of the country. Eric gestured to a bench. They sat.

"We're adults. We can do this without shouting. Right?"

"Where's the fun in that?" But Alan's smile was bitter. "Will's old office, now Meeting Room E. Soundproof, door locks, nobody has it signed out for this shift, technically we're in the office, just a little earlier than scheduled."

"Everyone will know."

"Screw them. And you will notice I did not shout that. It's the only privacy we can get, and I want privacy for this."

Alan ported away. Eric gave him a minute to appear in the office and deal with anything urgent, then ported to his own area and hung up his coat. Quietly they handled the little things that had arisen in their absence, then walked to Meeting Room E.

Alan laid his books and papers on the table while Eric closed and locked the door.

"Nice touch," Eric gestured at the papers, "but not going to fool anyone."

"Actually, the books are for you. I ordered these two a while back, had to wait until now for the second to arrive. It's an advanced prepublication proof. This third one is a study of Reaper psychology. Mostly rubbish, but it has a chapter on partnership bonds. I've taken extensive notes in case you've questions after the book's due back at the Library. Extended loan, three weeks. Please don't forget. You'll get me in trouble with the librarians."

Alan disconnected the telephone. "We won't be interrupted. Now. Shouting. Your turn. I've already had my first go." He sat down at the table and folded his hands over his notes.

Eric slammed his fists down and leaned across the table. "Shouting. Right. You are being an absolute brat. Hell wants your hide nailed to its gates. Will and I are doing our best to keep you alive, and you're pouting like a child sent to his room for stealing cookies. You know the demons want your blood in screw-top bottles and you still sneak out alone into areas you know full well are dangerous. You have a golden opportunity to do Hell more damage than any fifty scythe-swingers, and you're neglecting it to duck out and drop your trews at the imps watching for ye. Any idiot can Reap! Haven't we taught a wretched regiment of them? You can do something far rarer and more valuable. You can think, ye silly bairn, and teach, and that is what the Realm needs of you, and what the Highest wants! Drop yer sulks and do yer job, which is to save the lives of all around ye!" Eric stood straight, pulled out a chair, sat down. "Your turn."

Alan remained seated. He looked past Eric at the wall. "You denied me choice," he said quietly. "You demoted me to a puppet. You knew I did not understand. All I asked was honesty. All you had to do was explain. You denied me the few rights allowed a Reaper. Your protection became enslavement. You welcomed duties which kept us apart, so you could be free. You asked for trust where you gave none. You let me believe I was considered incompetent to Reap. It drove me to despair and shamed me before my friends. You drew on the bond to weaken me. You jailed me so tightly I could not breathe, and wondered why I slipped away from an office that keeps me under constant watch in case I collapse again. Every year brought a new restriction. I applied for transfer and was denied. I have reached the point where I must break away, even if it means I leave the Realm forever. If I cannot trust you because you will not trust me, there is nothing to keep me here. Your turn."

"I think I'm done, thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then both rushed to speak.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I can't endure it."

"Alan, please, I'm sorry. I wanted to keep you out of the battlefields to come. I have served there. I do not ever want you to do that. I asked Eliza to keep you in a position which would spare you as long as possible."

"Eliza?"

"Madame Administrator. We were in the Academy together."

"Oh, my. You've known her for four hundred years?"

"Aye. She moved into Auditing a century ago. She lost a partner due to an Administrative stupidity. Too smart for a Reaper, really. But determined to serve, just like you.

"We made a deal. I scan the newspapers and report. She keeps you where you can produce the wonders only you can think up. You are one of our best Reapers, but the other work you do is far more important than Reaping. The Blades have saved so many; the portals; the cooperation, the tracking, the Thursday nights where ideas are shared. The students you teach and recommend to the Divisions. This was not a demotion, Alan. You are widely respected for all these things. I should have told you all this. I knew you would refuse. I was afraid you would leave rather than agree to our plans. You are being protected, not imprisoned. We never meant to shame you. Please, my Light. Forgive me. Stay with me."

"Something must change. I cannot bear this confinement."

"It is not confinement. It is reassignment and concealment."

"Eric, here's a question for a crofter; how many legs does a sheep have if you call the tail a leg?"

"What? Five."

"Wrong. Four. Calling the tail a leg does not make it one. Call this what you like. It's intolerable."

"Hell is hunting you, Alan, the demons know that you provided the Blades. They've been hunting me in hopes of killing us both through the bond."

"They've been hunting you? Not Will, but you? All this time?"

"Aye. It's one of the reasons I'm assigned to Ops now. Less exposure. Just like you. If it's any consolation, I too am having trouble adjusting."

"But they've given you a predictable Sweep schedule. That's stupid. Are they trying to set you up?"

"No. Actually I think they are trying to keep me amused. The demons go spare trying to find me. When they do, I lead them a merry chase. While we're off tearing around the roofs and alleys, everyone else gets a rest."

"If I could go with you—"

"Alan, there was a demon in the mine today who pointed you out and called for your death. Spears heard him. You should have, too."

"I heard—but I thought Will was the target."

"Did you see what happened to the demon?"

"No. I was busy at the moment."

"Harmon and Ten Hagen took him down neat as you please, tied him up with restraints that kept him from porting, and tucked him away in the dark. They gave him to Judicial for questioning. Oh, and the restraints? Seem to be a side project from that intern you introduced to Scythes six years ago. You know, the one whose friend you took to Spectacles because he could barely see? Alan, me love, don't you see that the help you gave to Smitty and Dutch are as vital to the Realm as Reaping?

"Listen, me Light, what if we asked your scientific protégés for a miniature beach portal? Something to take us somewhere they wouldn't think to look for us? Or would one of the War Room spares do that? They're just for communication, though, right?"

"So we could both escape together on Sunday afternoons? To remote areas, peaceful and pleasant?" Alan looked thoughtful. "Possibly a treat for any Reaper fed up with the job. Maybe consult with foreign Reapers for nice locations. I've been visiting Kew Gardens too often for safety, though I never stay more than an hour. But you are trying to distract me again."

Alan pushed the smallest book across the table. "This book—be sure and read the chapter on bonds. There'll be a pop quiz later."

"I will. And these other two books?"

"Those are for your reports to Will. And Madame. New publications from the human realm. They are pretty scary, in opposite ways, and I am afraid they may mean the first catastrophe is closer than we thought. One's from England. It's a fat and happy denial that countries will ever enter into conflict again. The other's from Germany. It's an open call to war, defining it as a biological imperative. You're the better forecaster. Please tell me your opinion, because it will affect the next Budget."

"These are also Library copies?"

"Oh, yes. You won't want to read these more than once."

"Am I forgiven, me Light?"

"No. None of you are. My position is unbearable, regardless of the pretty words you use to disguise it. Nobody gets forgiven until things change. Until you all are honest with me."

"One thing will not change. We owe Will our collection forms, plus an action report. Still want to resume Reaping?"

Alan emitted a sound which might have been a laugh.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric's books:  
>  _The Great Illusion_ [1910] by Norman Angell...which proved that war had become vain. By impressive examples and incontrovertible argument Angell showed that in the present financial and economic interdependence of nations, the victor would suffer equally with the vanquished; therefore war had become unprofitable; therefore no nation would be so foolish as to start one.
> 
> General von Bernhardi... _Germany and the Next War_ [1911] ...which was to be as influential as Angell's but from the opposite point of view. Three of its chapter titles, "The Right to Make War," "The Duty to Make War," and "World Power or Downfall" sum up its thesis.
> 
> —from _The Guns of August_ , Barbara W. Tuchman, pp.68.7 & 70.5 (ebook version)


	41. In trouble

At 1030 Madame Administrator received a telephone call from the Director of the London Branch.

"Madame, I have just learned that a demon was captured by two of our Reapers in the Pretoria Pit this morning. They turned it over to Judicial for questioning at or around 0930. It displayed knowledge of a demonic directive to kill or capture Assistant Director Humphries."

"On what authority do we have this information, sir?"

"I was there. I heard the command, which was simply "That's him. Get him." That could mean either capture or kill. I saw two Reapers take it down. One of them was too Junior to be participating, so I questioned him just now. His Seniors were unaware that he'd been involved. He was unwilling to name the people he'd been working with. He did divulge the purpose of the exercise. He also admitted the demon was bound with restraints that kept it from porting away, and the implication is that those are an unapproved invention of his roommate in Scythes."

"Now that is very interesting. Let us follow up that invention without getting the Scythes Junior in trouble, if possible. I want that sort of thinking encouraged. Continue."

"Madame, my Junior suggested that those restraints would be approved quickly if the bound demon was presented to Engineering's Device Approval Board. My Junior implies that there is a group of Juniors and younger Seniors who have been trying to protect Humphries. Humphries is unhappy in his current situation and has developed a dangerous habit of venturing alone into the human realm. They did not come to me, or involve any of the older Seniors. His mentors are the first to learn of this."

"Are they the sort to gossip?"

"No."

"See that they don't. Why is Humphries engaging in such foolish behavior?"

"I believe the situation was not fully explained to him. He has come to believe that he has been classed as physically and mentally incompetent to Reap. Unfortunately he realized today that his partner was behind it. They are having a discussion in a soundproof meeting room as we speak. I believe Slingby will tell him as little of the truth as he can get away with, and that Humphries will know perfectly well that Slingby is holding back. He will need to know everything, Madame, and he will not get that from his partner. We will have to explain fully if we wish his cooperation in the future. It has been pointed out to me that his, ah, productivity has diminished over the last year or so due to his reaction to his changed circumstances."

"Mr. Slingby has a history of keeping secrets. I should have allowed for that. I will correct the situation. What else do I need to know?"

"It was implied that the recent attacks on Slingby were attempts to damage or kill both through their bond. Is that possible?"

"Quite possible. Anything else?"

"Only an assumption, Madame. Humphries has already applied for transfer once. I was able to persuade Belfast to reject him. If we cannot bring him to trust us and his partner, he will secede into the human realm. Or possibly flee to a foreign Branch which will accept him as a Reaper regardless of our demands for his return. That would end badly for everyone."

"Indeed. Congratulations, Mr. Spears. Your understanding of your employees is improving. Earlier this morning I received a call from Agent Goodfellow in Auditing, informing me that a demon was being transported to Judicial and asking for backup if I did not hear from her in one hour. That time has expired. I will now call Judicial and ask why she has not called me. Good day, sir. I shall inform you when I am ready for our meeting with Agents Slingby and Humphries."  
  


* * *

  
Judicial was not used to uninvited visitors. Indeed they were not used to any visitor who was not dragged in shaking with fear. They did not want any high-ranking official visitors at all, and brushed off any requests for information from outsiders.

They were unprepared for Madame Administrator, whom they could nevertheless threaten.

They were entirely unprepared for her escort, three veiled Angelic beings who could not be treated with any less than the utmost courtesy. If, of course, there was any time for courtesy.

"You have Senior Auditor Sarah Goodfellow here. Produce her at once, sirs!"

They could prevaricate to the citizens of the Reaper Realm. Disobeying the Angels was forbidden. With a politeness grown rusty from long disuse, Senior Goodfellow was immediately released and presented.

"Are you well, Sarah?"

"Yes, Madame."

"And where is our demon?"

"Unknown, Madame."

"Well, gentlemen? Where is it, and what have you learned from it?"

There was a bit of nervous shuffling. An Angel spoke. "Answer the question." The furniture rattled with his displeasure.

"Sir! It is in one of our holding areas, being questioned."

An Angel fixed a skeptical eye on the speaker. "It has not shifted form, nor ported away? Holding one for any length of time is not one of your capabilities."

The speaker flushed an angry red. "It is bound with a device of Reaper make. We intend to make considerable use of this in the future."

"Will you, indeed?" asked Madame. "You are not combatants. Do you intend to use these on Reapers who have displeased you? This is not for Judicial's use, nor may you seize its inventor. What, if anything, have you learned from the demon?"

"Very little, Madame, it may have nothing to tell. It has given us a tale of an effort to slay a Reaper, which we find unlikely. The Reaper in question has a poor record and would be no loss in any case."

"The name, sir!"

"A Mr. Humphries, Madame. A disobedient Reaper who was demoted to administrative duties after a work-related illness. Even though he is in a quiet desk position, he had a breakdown recently. There have been complaints that he slipped his partner an illegal defensive weapon. He has recently been accused of illegal use of Angelic property at the London Lab. There are mentions of unexcused absences from duty. Hell has no reason to target such a person. In any case we intend to remove him soon as useless to the Realm. We believe this all to be a screen for some other plot."

"Sir, I wish to know who filed these complaints."

"Quite impossible, Madame! That is confidential."

An Angel manifested his wings, just enough to be visible. They very nearly filled the office. "You will tell Madame what she wants to know."

The speaker looked at Madame with deep dislike. "The charges against Humphries were submitted anonymously. They show great animosity but not the jealousy we usually see in such letters."

"Present the demon," suggested the Angel. One of Judicial slipped away. He returned with a rather scruffy demon which showed signs of wear. Its wrists were bound before it. A strap connected its ankles, allowing it to take short steps. It was not happy to see the Angels, a much more powerful predator than the Reapers.

Major Artois looked at its bonds. "Interesting. Very interesting. I want a set. Madame, shall we accompany Senior Goodfellow to the Engineering Laboratories? I should like to meet the Reaper who contrived these."

"Certainly, Major. Sarah?"

"Of course, Madame. Will you port Major Artois if I take our demon?" With a zip they were gone.

Uriel dropped his veil of anonymity. He glowed with the light of the heavens. Judicial cowered.

"I am very displeased with you all. It is apparent that your Group has assumed powers far beyond those assigned you. You were formed to ensure justice. You have interpreted that to mean you are entitled to punish at will. You have restrained an Auditor from completing her duties. You have threatened the innocent. You have forgotten that all Reapers are under Azrael's protection.

"This Group is suspended for investigation. A team of my assistants will take over as of now, until this service is re-staffed with Reapers I trust. Allow me to present my representative, Raguel, Archangel of Justice, who will remind you that exoneration of the innocent is as much your duty as punishment of the guilty. You will all make yourselves immediately available to the takeover crew. Do not try to excuse yourselves to them; they are of sufficient rank to detect and punish lies. When they are done I will consider what to do with you, according to their findings and recommendations."

Judicial submitted. They were not particularly good at it. But they would have considerable practice in the coming days.  
  


* * *

  
Engineer Crawford spent the first hours of the morning in the Stinks and Booms Lab. Upon his return, Smitty had steeled himself to confess building an unapproved contrivance outside of Senior oversight. Before he could begin, an unexpected visit exposed everything. A Senior Auditor. A ranking Angel of the Forces Militant. The legendary Madame Administrator. All with Dutch's dinged-up demon, still held in Smitty's illegally fabricated bonds.

All asking for Engineer Crawford's apprentice, who had no option but to face the searchlight of his Mentor's gaze.

Quietly he explained the underlying theory, how the demonic detectors recognized the demons' portal frequencies. How he had set a transmitter to disrupt that particular frequency. How it was powered by the demon's own ambient aura. How the materials were common, inexpensive wrapping straps for scythe handles with a quick-release closure added. He demonstrated with scraps from his worktable.

All listened with interest. Even the demon. They all conferred on how to get the work approved without having Smitty expelled from the training program. Even the demon.

Engineer Crawford coldly requested his Junior produce the design specs. Upon the document's retrieval, he backdated and signed it. It was countersigned by Madame Administrator, Major Artois and Senior Goodfellow. Which would tell anybody that the document was fishy, but that there was no point in investigating it. There was probably a whole separate filing cabinet labelled 'Fishy Specs (Non-Exploding, Non-Fatal, Unexpectedly Useful, Approved by People Who Outrank You)'.

Then the Engineer took his apprentice and his apprentice's invention before the Board of Approvals.

The demon loved being the center of attention. It modelled its bonds like fashionable accessories. Smitty's Board reviewed the design and materials, asked a few technical questions and approved the bonds for pre-production testing. But everyone knew the date was a lie, and that his Mentor had signed his name to a lie. The demon saw their shame and grinned with malice.

They returned to his workstation. Engineer Crawford gave the standard go-get-clean visitors' lecture. The ladies left for their offices. The Angel took charge of the demon and went wherever Angels went with demons. Smitty bowed his head and waited for the sky to fall.

Crawford was silent for a moment. "For your roommate, I assume."

Smitty nodded.

"Paying a debt? To whom?"

"Mr. Humphries, sir. Targeted by the demons for death, because of the knife blades. This knowledge is now verified and public, so steps can be taken."

"I see. Quiet little man, but truth gets out. It's not even the blades, so much, as the cooperation of the Divine and Reaper Realms. That's what's really hurting Hell's plans. Communication. Rapid response. Hah. He has an enemy, then. There's a malicious gossipmonger in London or the London Lab. Or could be the Academy; I know he teaches there. Tell your roommate."

Crawford paused. "You know the rules. You know the reasons for those rules. You know the fatality rates among those apprentices who ignore those rules."

"Yes, sir."

"You will tell me the next time you are asked to break those rules."

"Sir."

"Because, once you have told me, those rules will not apply. I will keep your secrets. I will help if I think it necessary. But I will not lie for you again. You have talent and promise, but if you go behind my back for any reason, for anyone, your career in this Division is over. Even if you don't kill yourself playing with things you don't yet fully understand. Now shower, change and get out. You are banned from this facility for a fortnight. Attend your classes as always, but your bench and your tools are forbidden you. Go."  
  


* * *

  
Smitty was in his room, sitting on his bed, his head in his hands, when his roommate staggered in. Dutch hung up his coat and vest, removed knives from various sheaths and pockets, placed his detector in its charger, and sat on his own bed. "You got caught, too, Smitty?"

"Sure did. Knew I would. A little bad luck in that I didn't have time to confess before it all came out. You okay, Dutch?"

"I'll live. I think. My Seniors are not pleased with me. Spears had me on the carpet an hour after we got back. He consigned me to my Seniors for correction. After a dose of their disapproval, I was barely a wet spot on the floor.

"Then D'Acres got a call from his wife. She, God help us, happens to be the Auditor who took over the demon from Iris. Judicial confined her when she insisted on being present at its questioning. Madame Administrator and three Angels made Judicial let her go, but the very idea of his wife in Judicial's hands nailed D'Acres to the ceiling. Fitz sent me away before Roland could cancel my apprenticeship and file a petition to transfer me to Antarctica. I'm not to return until tomorrow."

"Well, Senior Goodfellow's okay," said Smitty. "She showed up in the workshop today. With your demon, an Angel, and Madame Administrator. They arrived before I got the chance to tell Engineer Crawford what I'd done and apologize. I'm banned from the workshop for two weeks, for forcing my Mentor to cover up a major infraction of the safety rules by signing a backdated design."

"Smitty, I'm sorry. But your bonds worked perfectly, no problems at all."

"Crawford's angry; fudging data is despicable, no matter how minor the data point is, and he had to do it in front of a Board of his peers. But he also told me to come to him before I decide to break the rules again. He says you should know there's somebody giving out information about Humphries to the demons. But, Dutch, the demon verified the plot against Mr. Humphries; Madame and the Angels know about it. We've done what we wanted to do."

"Yes, and good news; Humphries and Slingby took the soundproof meeting room for a discussion today. Senior Sutcliff saw them entering and leaving and declared it an unresolved standoff. Maybe they'll be able to establish an agreement like Iris says they should. So when they sneak out they'll go together without needing any protection from us."

"I didn't name any of the Thursday Nighters."

"Me either. Can you imagine what Spears would do to a conniving Senior who left two Juniors holding the bag?"

Both winced at the mental image.

"Spears may well suspect Harmon," continued Dutch, "but Harmon was a Jacobs trainee. Jacobs is known for intense loyalty to his friends and a 'death before snitching' attitude towards management. So are his apprentices. Randy would simply stand silent and invite Spears to do his worst. I doubt the Director will bother. Randy may find himself on Thames retrieval for a while. It's ugly duty, especially in winter. Your shoes and underthings never quite dry out. One of Spears' favorite punishments."

"The Angel wants some of my restraints when they go into production."

"That should compensate for the blot on your record."

"I think it will. My Engineer likes Humphries and considers us to be in his debt. The standard penalty for unapproved construction is a month's setdown and expulsion from classes. It would end most apprenticeships. The junior would fall so far behind he'd never catch up. But Crawford, bless his heart and mustache, gave me half that and expressly instructed me to attend my classes. I can do design anywhere. It's just going to be an utter misery to be denied my tools and his teaching. Will everything be okay for you, Dutch?"

"Sure. Fitz is my primary Mentor. He'll recommend me for promotion in June. It's the least scandalous way for my Mentors to be rid of me, you see, and D'Acres cares about that sort of thing. With a new partner, on a different shift, I'll be able to stay in London. Even if Roland wants to slice me into fiddlestrings. And your Senior rating is automatic on the acceptance of your first Scythe, right? I know you've been working ahead of schedule. Engineer Crawford will keep you on and sponsor your elevation to Engineer at the end of your decade. You're too good to lose, and it's not like you were setting up a still or frying drop scones on an engine housing or plotting world domination."

Smitty grinned. "True. World domination is overrated. All that paperwork. I also don't meet the delusional-crazy requirements for the job. I've already started my revised prototype scythe. Not being able to work on my mockup is going to drive me nuts, but I can put some more thought into the design and maybe avoid a few mistakes. I'll be okay, Dutch, and so will you. D'Acres' wife will calm him down. She was obviously pleased with the situation."

"Hey, Smitty."

"Hey, Dutch!"

"We did it!"

"We did it."

 


	42. They are hungry, sir

Madame Administrator looked at the three Reapers she had summoned to her august presence.

Mr. William T. Spears, who was using his sternest mode to hide curiosity;

Mr. Eric Slingby, using his blankest face to hide panic;

Mr. Alan Humphries, anger tightly controlled, humming with potential mayhem like a hornet's nest on a hot summer's day.

Madame picked up an official report on the Garrison's letterhead. "Sirs. I would like to share with you some details of the Angels' questioning of a demon captured at the site of today's mass Reaping."

Spears allowed himself to evince a proper interest. Slingby stiffened like a hunting dog scenting its prey. Humphries' gaze sharpened.

"The demon is one of middle rank. Its knowledge is less than we hoped, more than we feared. You, Mr. Humphries, have been declared a nuisance by the Lowest. The current order is to capture you for eternal punishment, or if that is not possible, to slay you as soon as possible. This suggests that your current destination upon demise would not automatically be Hell, but a reincarnation fairly low on the food chain. Either fate would cost us your future services, which we are unwilling to lose. A similar order for Mr. Slingby calls for his death as a way to incapacitate you.

"The demon believes that information about your activities was sold to Hell by a resident of the Reaper Realm, who was promised preferential treatment in return. The demon believes the motivation was hatred strong enough to blind the seller to the inevitable consequences of such a bargain.

"The demon also verifies that the attack at the academy was in response to information that the three of you would be together in a relatively undefended area." Madame set aside the Garrison report and picked up another.

"Judicial reports a series of poison-pen letters accusing you of various infractions. Those mostly involved Branch business, although two accused you of misdeeds at the Academy. They also have a number of requests from Research. These demanded control of your person for a study of the long-term effects of the Thorns, an obvious ruse since the Thorns are completely gone. The names of the Researchers who filed those requests are being followed up by Auditing, who have already ruled on that matter." She turned to another page.

"Maintenance was asked to provide oversight of the Branch offices recently. They report that they have not yet found any drafts of such letters in London's wastebaskets, nor overheard any conversation against you. This request for oversight came from some fairly young Seniors of various Divisions and was reported to me as is required, but Maintenance believes they owe you protection, sir. Something about being invited to attend the Gather as guests as well as staff."

Madame laid the last page on the neat stack beside her. "Mister Slingby. You asked that your partner be kept from battlefield Reaping. I agreed, because we needed the foresight you offered in return. Over time he has proven himself so valuable as a planner, thinker and teacher, that we cannot spare him for Collections. I did not realize he would see these new duties as a demotion. Neither did you, although you live and work with him. You will stay after this meeting, sir. We have things to discuss."

Slingby paled slightly. Humphries lost some of his defiance and began to look worried.

"Mr. Humphries, I apologize for this misunderstanding. We in no way think the less of you or your talents. It is vital to our survival that you continue your efforts to prepare the Realm for the future. Be aware, sir. Our demon stated that the Ravenings began as the result of a large increase in demonic population. They are _hungry,_ sir, and this is Hell's response to the same future disasters which have increased the numbers of students at the Academy. The Ravenings will continue in those areas of the human realm least able to resist.

"Your duty is to continue the upgrades to all Reaper Branches; to call attention to those Garrisons lax in their duties; to teach and inspire those who will create future defenses and strategies. You are to cease endangering yourself. Are you equal to this duty, or shall we find another to perform it?"

"Madame, I believe myself equal to this duty." Humphries' voice was soft but strong. Good. The man was more concerned for his partner than caught up in his stubbornness.

"Mr. Spears. Please allow Mr. Humphries more time for these duties. You may transfer some of his less important responsibilities to the additional staff requested in the current Budget." Humphries blushed slightly; obviously he'd been planning to free himself from some of the busywork Spears had used to keep him in the office. "Mr. Humphries, may I assume that these tasks will no longer be necessary to keep you from leaving the Reaper Realm unescorted?"

"You may, Madame."

"Do not disappoint me in this, sir. Return to your office and think. Mr. Spears, you and Mr. Humphries are excused. Please close the door on your way out."

In the outer hall, Alan paused. Will waved him on. "She won't kill him. It may take him a day or two to get over it, however. Have you turned in your Collection and Incident reports?"

"Yes, and made him finish his as well. She's scary. You sure he'll be okay?"

"She will not damage him enough to affect his performance of his duties. Come along. He'll want a moment to himself when she's done with him. I've been on Madame's carpet myself. Not a good place to be for any reason."

They walked down the hall in silence. Then, "Listen, Will, London's mostly a lot of younger Reapers who've never seen battlefields. Do you think we should ask for guest lecturers from France and Russia who covered Napoleon's invasion and retreat from Moscow? Was anybody here involved in the Crimean War? Anglo-Zulu War? Anglo-Boer War? Anglo-Anybody?"

"Gerritt Vanderveldt, First and Second Boer War. Chandra Gupta, Second Boer War as Vanderveldt's partner. Jacobs, Crimean War. I don't think Fairbairn was here then. Before that, ask Slingby. He's followed British soldiers into any number of wars, domestic and foreign. I've always been stationed in London, and only for a little more than a century. So many of our Reapers are either newer than that, or new transfers since you apprenticed here. Slingby is Personnel, after all. Tell him to search the records. Don't let him make you do it. He has his own assistant."

They were silent again, waiting for the elevator. When it came, they entered. Will pushed a button for the long descent.

"Will—" a tone of desperation.

"Humphries. This is an order. Ask Medical to recommend a couple of convalescent Seniors near the end of their medical leave. Reapers. Not Admins. They should be capable and bored and eager to get off half-pay. Offer them a stipend sufficient to bring them up to base pay. Enter them into the books as temporary personal assistants, as a prelude to their return to active duty. They are to provide escort on your daily rounds. Make sure Monitoring knows they are here and are tracking their glasses. Demonic detectors and Angel blades on all three of you. When you must escape, take them along. Sit them down where they can rest, if they need it. Wander as you will as long as you stay in their line of sight. Request a portal for your office with some preset destinations. Good for them and for you. Replace them as needed. Overlap them by at least a week so that they can train their successors. Not your job to be forever breaking in new ones."

Alan brightened. Spears watched as that thoughtful expression returned. Planning in progress. He'd better talk this over with Grell. Best be warned what Humphries might come up with. Will hated surprises. But he'd managed to insert a couple of additional seasoned fighters into Operations, in case there ever was an invasion.  
  


* * *

  
Will found Grell preparing to leave for the day. As she locked up her desk against their unknown sneak, Will asked if she would like a takeout supper to eat at home. This had become a private signal of _I need your advice where no one can hear._ "That sounds lovely, Will. I don't feel like cooking either." They walked back to Will's new office, deep in the secured area of Operations, closed the door. Grell sat down in one of the chairs—one of the comfortable ones, reserved for the rare Reapers not in trouble—and stretched her arms above her head for a moment. "Tell me all, dearest. Will Alan behave now, do you think?"

"That is my question for you, Grell." Will related all that had happened in Madame's office. When he had finished, Grell thought a moment. She giggled.

"Well. She played right to Alan's greatest priorities, didn't she? His duty, his dignity and his lover? Oh, nicely done. And your instructions to hire assistants? Masterful. Supporting injured, unhappy Reapers, getting them off half-pay until they are ready for active duty; right up his alley. And he won't run away from them because he won't want to get them in trouble. The true beauty of it, you clever man, even if you never thought of it, is that Eric is going to have little flashes of jealousy. He'll know it's unfounded, and he'll be ashamed of it, but he'll treat Alan a little better as a result. Little kindnesses. Maybe, just maybe, fewer half-truths or lies of omission. As for what Alan might be planning? I don't care to speculate, dear, on so little information. Be brave. It might be an Outrage Will project, or just something very quiet with long-range benefits."  
  


* * *

  
Once Eliza—" _Madame_ to you, Slingby, until you start behaving like an adult,"—had finished with him, Eric had been utterly useless for patrol. Alan was off somewhere on his own business. Eric was grateful. He was dreading the Four Stages of Doom: the Narrowed Eyes, the Crossed Arms, and the ominous Tapping of the Foot, followed by the always-difficult Explaining. Not that Alan would start that progression in public, but there was always Meeting Room E. He asked Garraway to take his scheduled sweep. He retrieved the books that Alan had requested for him and took them into his office to read.

The chapter on bonds was terrifying. Had he really been pulling on Alan's strength to keep him controlled? Yes, he had; was still doing it; after a bit of practice he managed to end that constant low-level draw. The important and difficult trick was to do so without closing off the link completely, which would have panicked both of them and made balancing impossible. He felt the flow turn back toward Alan. Alan was tired but not angry. That was good.

Eric had then skimmed the two books from the human realm. One was from England and one from Germany. Both were in flagrant violation of the Being Bloody Stupid Act of 1581. Alan would be upset if he bounced them both off the wall into the trash, as they were library books to be returned in the same condition as when issued. Eric held them, tapping their spines with a finger. Artois was still a little cool towards Alan, probably miffed about the use he was making of tech that the Angels considered forbidden to Reapers. But there were other ways into the Garrison. He called Color-Sergeant Bourne.

"Frank, it's Eric. I have two books here that Alan would give your Major if they were more comfortable with each other. Can I pass them to you? They are both library copies, so I'll need them back in two weeks. We need to get them talking again, more than just passing alerts along. I know he's busy...did you ever get rid of the officer who was giving him the pip?...Excellent. Who won the pool?...Congratulations...Look, Alan's been thinking again. I'll push him to share his thoughts...Scythe and Skull is good."

Alan showed up again in late afternoon. "I've been talking to Medical. Will's ordered me to take on a couple of babysitters, convalescents on half-pay. I'll want two in reasonably good shape, not from London. Medical will send candidates to you as chief of Personnel. I've promised not to endanger them." Alan's color was a little better. His eyes held a spark of mischief. "Didn't promise not to educate them." He sat down. "You did something with the bond. Or stopped doing something. I feel better. We're going to have to talk about this tonight. What do you want for supper?"

"Come with me to the Scythe and Skull, where I will pass your library books to Frank Bourne for transport to Major Artois. Tell him your worries. We can eat there or anywhere else you like."

"That's good, he really needs to be aware of how crazy some humans are getting. Tell me, Eric. How long?"

"Och, it's hard. I think our best clue is still the class sizes at the Academy. Maybe three, four years. Then a second disaster in another four years. Something else in Russia, in ten years or so. Civil war there, probably, a very bad one if their Academy's expanding the way your sources tell you."

"Three or four years... We need to get as many apprentices as we can train. Maybe it's time to start posting lists of all partnerships eligible to teach come June, tell them to look over the interns. Sorry. Don't mean to step on your responsibilities."

"There are a few I need to start prodding, it's true. We have one senior team who are disqualified. Anders and Brandon can't reap, and Madame banned them from teaching. Quite right, too. She considers them freeloaders. They're performing a needed service, though, and anyone else doing that duty full-time would be likewise disqualified. We should stick a couple of Admins in their jobs and replace them with a Reaping team with teaching experience. We have a waiting list of transfer applicants."

"Could their positions be reclassified as Administrative? Same jobs, but paid by a different Division? We could call in a favor or two. Or maybe find them something in Supplies, if they would prefer a new start elsewhere. It would be hard to find a Branch willing to employ Reapers who have had two apprenticeships cancelled, are banned from teaching and have been stuck in desk jobs for underperformance and inability to work with other partners."

"It's a thought. I'll ask around. Ye're too kind, ye know. Their best bet would be to find a bar that needs a couple of bouncers. Let's go talk to Bourne."

Bourne was waiting for them, wrapped in his soldier-off-duty aspect and sipping a pint of bitter. He placed the books in a carrybag, reassuring Alan that they would be returned to the library in good time. "Any messages for the Major?"

Alan paused, his eyes lowered. "Come on, me Light, out with it," said Eric. "I can tell ye have one."

"Color-Sergeant. We have been informed by a demon that the Ravenings have been caused by hunger in Hell. Their population is increasing, just as the Reaper population is growing. I wonder—" he looked up at Bourne—"Have the Angels been increasing in numbers as well? Because if you haven't, you are in for a hard war."

Bourne's eyes widened for an instant. Alan's eyes dropped back to the table. "So many new Reapers. Stronger and better prepared than ever before. If too many of us survive, will you be ordered to thin our ranks? Hand us over to Hell? Will you order us to Reap each other? Or will the disasters be followed by an enormous population increase among humans and yet more disasters following? Be careful. Asking these questions may be dangerous. So much safer to silence someone than ask them to be silent."

Alan raised his green, glowing eyes again. "Be careful."  
  


* * *

  
Senior Collections Agent (Grade Four) Roland D'Acres went home and swept Senior Auditor (Grade Four) Sarah Goodfellow into a desperate hug. "Sarah, are you all right? Are you truly free of Judicial's grasp?"

"Yes, of course, my dear. Would I go into such a situation without backup? Madame Administrator knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. When I did not check in with her at the appointed time, she arrived under full sail with all cannons blazing. Judicial is now under the control of a displeased Archangel and his numerous, humorless staff. Also all of Auditing was aware of the situation and ready to roll. Quite disappointed that they weren't needed, actually. Judicial's been giving us a bad name by association for years now."

"I will see Ten Hagen expelled from the Service. And his overly clever roommate. And when I find out who else was involved—"

"Do calm down, darling. I know you want to chop him up, put the bits in a candy box, tie it up with a ribbon and present it to me at Yule. That's sweet of you." She patted his chest and turned back to her cooking. "But he and his friends have done the Realm a great favor. I was happy to encourage their plan; after all, Alan has called my attention to a number of interesting chicaneries, and I want him around to keep doing it. It never occurred to them—such innocent children—that Judicial would falsify the demon's story for their own purposes, but it most certainly occured to me. Madame and I baited a trap.

"As a result, we have established as fact a number of our suspicions. We have found the last of the hidden schemers in Research—the ones who were working for Hell on firearms with scythe-metal bullets. Judicial's reign of terror is ended, and their power will be restrained. Ten Hagen was prompted by gratitude for Alan Humphries' kindness when he was an intern. And shouldn't we be grateful as well? When Alan made it possible for us to declare our partnership formally before all the Realm? Please forgive your apprentice, dear. I really must find an exceptional Christmas gift for Iris, to thank her for the demon."

D'Acres h'mphed. It was a quieter h'mph. Sarah found it endearing.

"I was never in danger, my love. Judicial at its worst has never wanted to cross Auditing. They have always acted upon suspicion in secrecy. We deal in mathematical certainties and the cold light of verified facts. To misrepresent the demon's testimony, they had to have no outside witnesses. I refused to be dismissed. They confined me illegally. Madame brought in the Angels. I think we should open a bottle of wine to celebrate."  
  


* * *

_  
Under a streetlamp in the human realm, London, December 21, 1910. Two individuals muffled in coats and scarves to keep out the wind_

"Auditing raided Judicial today. They know about us. The others have already been picked up and imprisoned. They don't know anything that would endanger you or our mission. I'm leaving permanently. My reward awaits. But I have been instructed to pass this to you. Take it. Keep it hidden. Be patient. Wait until the current excitement is completely forgotten. Then use it. Don't expect to hear from my contact. If he wants to talk to you he'll send a message through someone who doesn't set off detectors."

A package was transferred. One ported out. One walked away.

 

 


	43. Dutch and Smitty, Alan's minders, Brussels and their Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1911\. Countdown; Year Seven of Ten

_Thursday, December 22, 1910_

Junior Ten Hagen showed up a little early for first shift. He took a cup of tea to his desk to fortify himself for twelve hours of cold disapproval from Fitzwilliam and probably a murder attempt disguised as a sparring session from D'Acres. He had known from the beginning that it would happen, but it was unexpectedly difficult. He admired and respected his Seniors. He reminded himself that the triad would be broken up in June anyway. To end it in disgrace was painful, though. At least Smitty, with another five years to go in his training, would have time to reconcile with his Engineer.

Sorenson stuck his head through the doorway. "Dutch. Did you hear what happened with your demon?"

"It's my demon now? Thought it was Iris'. I got kicked out yesterday after Spears and my Seniors got tired of yelling at me. I know it went to Judicial, and Judicial tried something really stupid with Auditing, who happens to be D'Acre's wife, which is why I probably won't survive the day. That's all I know."

"Judicial's now under Angelic management for exceeding their remit. That means 'assuming powers we didn't give you and we would like them back now.' We did a good thing. Tell you more at the party tonight." Sorenson vanished.

Dutch reviewed his Death Book. A busy shift ahead. Seven hours of Reaping, five of paperwork. The long winter nights and the cold wind always added to the List. He looked up as his Seniors arrived. D'Acres looked uncomfortable. Fitz looked...amused?

D'Acres looked past him at the wall, a sure sign of embarrassment. "Junior. My lady wife has required me to apologize for my overreaction yesterday. She has explained your part in her plan to expose Judicial to an Angelic examination."

Her plan? Oh. Iris had consulted Goodfellow, and Goodfellow had slotted them neatly into a pre-existing project. Auditing's protecting wings now extended over the Thursday Nighters. The Reapers got what they wanted, and Auditing got what they wanted. And Auditing's victory benefitted everyone.

"Therefore," continued D'Acres, "I do apologize. Please don't do it again, or if you must, warn us first. Tonight after our paperwork is complete, we will all adjourn to the Scythe and Skull for Mr. Humphries' Thursday Night social affair. Thus I shall demonstrate to Sarah that I have followed her orders as any sensible husband should."

"Yes, sir, of course," said Ten Hagen with equal dignity. This was quite an achievement, given that Fitz was grinning like a jack o' lantern in the background and half the office was listening outside the door.

 

* * *

 

Smitty had never in his brief existence in the Realm been left at liberty. He attended his Thursday classes, did the assignments and in three hours was bored to tears. Inactivity was maddening. He gathered his scythe designs and went to Supplies, seeking out Frances Ferris. She was preparing a large shipment for delivery. Smitty pitched in, ran through the loading checklist, checked the order against the packing list, and helped transport it. After that they sat down with his designs. She immediately pointed out a problem. "That long a blade puts the center of balance way up here, can't fight with it. You'll have to counterweight that without weakening the blade or making the whole thing too heavy."

They went to her manager. "I'm trying to design a scythe specifically for Supplies, sir, based on your current grasscutter model, with extra porting power for heavier freight and a blade designed for defense rather than Reaping. But it won't be any good if I don't understand the job it needs to do. May I work with her crew for the next week or so, after my classes? Here's my class schedule, sir. It's all first shift. I can work second or third and still complete my assignments."

"Will your Senior not want you at your regular duties, youngster?"

"Sir, I have been set down for a rules infraction. Two weeks. I hope to use the time to better my understanding of your requirements."

"Your Senior is?"

"Engineer Crawford, sir."

"Ah." A measuring look. "So _you're_ Crawford's apprentice. Show me your designs...hmm...promising. Can you strengthen this bit here? We often see cracking in this area on ours. In emergencies, we have to use 'em as crowbars. And you'll want overstrike protection, but that's standard on heavier models, I believe? Very well. One moment."

The manager left and returned shortly. "You're on. You'll work second shift. You've sparred daily with various scythe models, right? Right." He turned to Ferris. "You've got twelve days to teach him the various ways we use our scythes, Frannie. Give him one of ours. Point out its weaknesses. Show him the procedure, then introduce him to some of our more exciting destinations. Include both porting and portal deliveries. Throw him in the deep end. Give him what he needs to build us something special."

"Sure, boss."

"Listen, Smithfield, I don't expect a masterpiece from a half-trained apprentice with limited experience. I understand you may need a few years to produce a working model. But I like your approach to design, and I want to see what you build after a little field training. Pay attention to Ferris. Don't get underfoot. Don't get killed. Let me see your first prototype. If they won't let you take it out of your workshop, invite me in."

"Yes, sir!"

Seven days later Smitty had scrapped his scythe design, reworked and scrapped two more, and was beginning to think he had something useable. Once he was allowed back at his bench and tools, he would be a very busy man indeed. He would not have time to follow up on the question Frannie had asked about his demon restraints. It was a damn good question, too, and it needed answering, but by someone further along in their training. Getting sidetracked right now would not make his Engineer happy. Smitty went to the Scythe and Skull on Thursday night.

The bar was full of the usual crowd. Smitty chatted with various friends until Franklin and Cole came in from the London Lab. Smitty waved them over. "Les, Donnie, I've a problem. You know the restraints I gave Dutch for his demon? Frances Ferris in Supplies asked a really good question about them. It's one I can't answer. I can't take time from my own assignments to figure it out. My Senior is already irritated at me. I think it's more in your line anyway. Can I tell you about it? I have a feeling that somebody should be looking at it. It may be nothing, but it also might be useful."

"Let me get us our pints, Smitty, then tell us all." Cole went over to the bar. Franklin smiled. "Always ready for a new idea. I wanted to talk to you about your restraints. Are you in bad trouble with your Engineer?"

"Let's just say I don't want to do anything to make it worse."

Donnie returned and handed Les his mild and bitter. "So, first, how did those restraints work?"

"Well, your demon detectors pick up the frequency that the demons port on. I bodged up a tiny transmitter that disrupts that frequency. I set one in the clasp that closes the restraints and sewed another to the strap for redundancy. It's strong enough to keep one demon from porting out; also seems to keep them to a single form."

"Oh," said Donnie. "That is fascinating. Can I see one of those?"

"Not right away. I'm expelled from the workshop, can't go back until the fifth of January. I have one in my bench drawer. I'll have to explain to Engineer Crawford why I want to take a device out of the workshop and give it to you. You might have to come in and examine it there."

"Understood. But Frances asked a question, you said?"

"She did. She said, 'So it keeps them from porting out. Can it keep them from porting in?' Right there I knew I had a project for somebody with lots more time and training."

Les sat back, wide-eyed. Cole shut his eyes. "Remind me of this the next time I start thinking I'm smart. Damn."

Les sipped his ale. "Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh...okay. Look. The restraints were reviewed and approved. We're used to thinking of them as illegal, but they are, right now, perfectly acceptable devices for further study. There is no reason that Donnie and myself, as Seniors at the London Lab, should not ask to see your design specs. Or call your Engineer and request the transmitter from your drawer. The Angels have your original set, right? We can ask about those, too, through the Lab. Our testing could hasten the path to production."

"Remember they're really short-range. But they might keep a small room safe if you set them in the ceiling or floor. You'll need a different power source."

Cole was scribbling in a notebook he'd pulled from his pocket. "Right, right, Les will talk to your Engineer in the morning. With any luck he'll hand everything over and forget the whole thing by next week. I know how busy he is. Bury yourself in your own projects when you get back, keep quiet until he's gotten over it. So a demon ports, and its destination blocks the port while the demon's in transit...does it get lost between start and arrival? Get thrown back to its start point? Get diverted, and if so, how far and in what condition? I suppose it's too much to hope that it explodes in a cloud of twinkling lights..."

 

* * *

 

Alan's Christmas present that year was a couple of Senior assistants. Eric had interviewed Medical's suggested convalescents, mostly by taking them out behind the building and sparring with them. He discarded one for mental inflexibility—Alan would have bounced him, no question, most unsuited to London's diversity and advanced technology—and two for still needing more time to heal. His final selections were both from large cities which did not want them back on the payroll until they were in prime condition. Slingby figured they were good for six weeks at least before their bosses began pushing for their return. Especially since London would pay half their salaries.

Eric sat them down, explained what their duties would be if Alan accepted them, and obtained their pledges to keep him safe. He then put red ribbon bows in their lapels and presented them to Alan for a job interview.

He lingered outside Alan's door until he heard laughter. Reassured, he went off about his business.

Alan went comparatively easy on Duncan and Mallory for the first two days. Having established their physical limits, he then proceeded to stretch their minds.

They went with him to Scythes, where they were astounded by the machinery and by the Senior Engineer they met there. Alan asked after an apprentice who was absent. The Engineer snorted and harrumphed and said the kid was on loan to another Division. Obviously there was a story there.

They went to Supplies, where their arms and brains were filled with maps. They held maps open on tables while Alan and Supplies Senior Vollmer discussed the politics of the human realm and the terrible effects to follow. They witnessed a handover of a shipment of Angel blades, during which Alan had a friendly conversation with a flock of winged beings they had never before considered as people.

They went to Maintenance, which they had never before seen as a separate and powerful Division. They met the devious and clever Senior Richards ("Just so you know, Alan, Russia's Academy just opened a new campus. Please tell Eric. We've still no idea of who's been ratting on you. Now that it's general knowledge, they've gone to ground. Give us time. They'll regain confidence and start up again. You two, somebody's been spying on this man with intent to kill. Keep watch.")

They escorted Alan to the Academy. They listened to his lectures, which were nothing at all like the ones they had attended when newly awakened. They watched him teach combat and scythe handling, gaining respect for his skills. They witnessed a London office full of interns helping with the eternal Collections paperwork and learning from the Seniors. Eric explained how a Branch might seek outstanding Reaper candidates among the students nearing graduation.

They accompanied Alan to the London Lab where Angels and Reapers worked together in relative harmony; they met Research Seniors who lived in a whirl of creativity; they saw portals and alarm screens and the people who watched them. They stepped through a portal and learned about the War Room.

They resided in Senior Housing and were naturally drawn into the common room community. They were intrigued by the cheerful communication between Seniors of different Divisions. The ideas being shared were wonderfully interesting. They learned the story of the Engineering Apprentice who had not been present in his workshop. They escorted Alan from his office to the Thursday Night gatherings at the Scythe and Skull and met that apprentice and his roommate. They also met a wide array of people from every Division and several countries. They watched Alan fade into the background to listen and fade forward to ask or answer questions; panicked briefly when he disappeared; found him in the back room listening to a group of elders describing their experiences in previous wars to an attentive audience. They resolved to keep a closer watch when he was trying to go unnoticed in a crowd. They did note that the Thursday Nighters seemed a happier group than Reapers usually were back home.

And once, when Alan was particularly stressed, they followed him to the Palm House in Kew Gardens. He strolled about for a while, paying particular attention to flowering plants. Finally he smiled, said "Thanks. Better now," and they all went back to the office. There Alan consoled Section Manager Brock on the proposed replacement of his beloved Comptometer with a 1912 Comptograph 16 Column Listing, Adding, Calculating Machine; "You're not losing Maybelle. You're hiring her an assistant. Consider her promoted to a supervisory position with training responsibilities. Be sure your Juniors become expert in all her functions."

Duncan and Mallory agreed between themselves that it was interesting how Admins could be as barking mad as Reapers and, like Reapers, still function perfectly well in spite of occasionally baying at the moon or the streetlamps.

After two months, Alan asked Eric for two new assistants. "Mine are fully recovered and ready to Reap. I want them back on their home grounds agitating for the advantages we enjoy in London. Give me my next pair of minders so I can start corrupting them."

"Ye evil wee man. Is two months a long enough span for your purposes? I can pick a couple in need of longer recovery if you prefer."

"They have to be able to defend themselves and keep up with me. Senior enough to achieve change in their home offices. The only other requirement is that they hail from a city that's not brought itself up to speed. I'd like a week's handover time before Duncan and Mallory go back on their own payrolls. Two months means I can send out a dozen a year."

"Ye're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"What, me? Merely following Will's orders."

"Suppose I find you one two-month convalescent and another who needs a month to six weeks. You can overlap them so the older can train the newer, and maybe produce two or three extra agents in a year."

"We could try that. They've got to be here long enough to stop being amazed, long enough to get comfortable with it, to become unwilling to lose all the advantages when they go home. Six weeks might not quite do it."

"Let's see what I can find. You can tell me your conclusions when they're ready to leave."

"Look for foreign candidates, too."

"Oh, you do want to cause trouble, don't ye."

"Orders. Following orders. We are all Reapers. Britain's ahead of the game. Hell is hungry. Time is getting short."

"Aye. So it is. I'll go talk to Medical."

 

* * *

 

_The soundproofed Meeting Room E, April 1911, Humphries and Slingby_

"I am now a consultant. Will's sold my services to foreign Branches setting up War Rooms. I'm going to write a set of directions for preplanning. Instructions, lists and layouts. I'll send them on ahead. At least the purpose of these rooms won't need to be disguised. With luck that will minimize the time I have to be there."

"How long will you be out of the office?"

"I'll be making day trips to supervise training and make sure their Monitors and Garrisons are linked in and cooperating. I'll be part of a team; two Monitors, Angel and Reaper, and a Senior Angel of high military rank to talk to the local Garrison. His name's Sandriel. Artois recommends him as a capable officer.

I'm to report any obstructiveness or personality clashes that impede cooperation. The Angels will straighten those out. I have to make sure all these Rooms' portals are interlinked. That may anger some Monitor Angels or Garrison chiefs. That's Uriel's problem. I don't speak German or Russian. Will I need translators?"

"No. Just listen to them. Language means naught to the dead. Understanding is one of the things we're given at awakening, or maybe a common language. Native words and accents can bleed back in after a while, like me burr and Vanderveldt's Africaans and D'Acres' Eton-plummy tones, and local styles can get picked up if ye're too long in one place, but all Reapers understand each other."

"That's good. A transport portal is going to be installed on campus so I can go directly from my work site to classes and back. Other days when I don't teach I'll use our War Room portal. That will save time and I'll never enter the human realm. I won't need my bodyguards, not with an Archangel along."

"You'll take them anyway. Where are you going?"

"So far I have Brussels which is the central Branch for Belgium. Then Strasbourg, Cologne, Liège, Luxembourg, Bazentin, Verdun, Olsztyn."

"The Angels must have new information. Well, that tells us where the land war is going to start, or at least where a lot of the dying will be done. Lord have mercy on them all. Sea bases?"

"Oh, yes. Second phase. The sea is always hungry."

"This is too much. There aren't enough hours in the day. Ye need to delegate. How good are yer teaching assistants? Anything to do with the War Room needs Reapers, not Admins. Look ye; portals work both ways; demons can come through. Unless ye have Angels on staff, yer gonna need a lot of experienced fighters taking up space in that room."

"The new portals have separate controls for communication and transport. We can see the destination without allowing anyone through. Franklin and Cole have a new scheme to keep demons from porting through _en masse_ instead of running through individually. Angels could come in through their own portals from the Garrisons and Monitoring stations. You're right, though. I can't do it all. I need to look about. We've some talented third-year Admins who can handle some of my office duties, and interns who will go full-time in June. The Angel blade deliveries require us both, though. And I won't give up teaching. We have taught the Academy not to censor me, but my assistants can't defy orders to strip certain subjects out of my lectures. "

"Yer man Brock has a talent for defensive office design, remember, and he now has eight people who know how to frame up a Budget and keep the daily books. Let him do your sample layouts. Give him a half-day's training on the hidden capabilities of our War Room. Tell him to talk to Franklin. They'll suggest any number of improvements."

"Thank you. How could I have overlooked that? And Marisa Solway can pick and train office-duty assistants for me. She's protective of us, it's rather charming. I think she knows more about my paperwork than I do. All the weekly stuff. End of Month, End of Quarter, End of Year reports. They can do them for Will as well as I can. I'll just have to proof and initial."

"Yer current minders are going to need replacing before yer done with all this. Better leave a little time free for the new ones to get used to the job. Will can't complain. They're his idea, after all. Give him some warning, though."

 

* * *

 

Brock studied the London War Room with great interest. He asked Les Franklin for a tour of the London Lab. He thought and doodled squares and rectangles on several sheets of paper, then went to Eric for his latest thoughts on the coming war. He pored over Alan's maps. Finally he asked to see the room that Brussels proposed to convert into an action center. It appeared that they thought a broom closet with a telephone would be appropriate.

"What do you mean by completely unsuitable, Monsieur Brock?"

Brock opened their communications portal to London. "Mr. Humphries, may I bring in a team from Brussels to examine the War Room? They need to see the various equipment and functionalities required."

Alan asked an intern to arrange tea and coffee. He and his bodyguards went to the War Room and opened the Mass Transit Portal. Brock led a trio of officials through. Between them, Alan and Brock demonstrated everything. Alan summoned Maintenance to explain the details of the construction and the support beams. The officials went quickly from suspicion to avarice. One went back through the portal to fetch the people who would actually do the work. Alan called in a couple of Monitors to explain the screens, especially the new one which would show alarms on a map of Belgium and surrounding countries. The officials were surprised that there was also a communications portal to the London Garrison. Alan mentally tagged that as evidence of possible non-cooperation between Brussels' Angels and Reapers.

Eric had a quiet talk with one or two of the visitors. Brussels went home determined to have an action center much bigger and better than London's. "That's fine," said Eric. "They're going to need it. This worked well. Have the Branches come here to see what can be done. In a month or so, the Brussels War Room will be another place for Branches to visit. You just travel for final inspections and to make sure they're all getting along. Mind you, the Brussels Garrison sounds like an unresponsive bunch."

"Yes, I got that feeling too. I'll warn the rest of the inspection team. We'll go over there in a couple of weeks when their transport portal's installed."

 

* * *

 

Alan returned from Brussels, limping and bandaged. His bodyguards were also injured. He sent them home to heal. After Alan had reported to Will, Eric took him home, fed him and helped him into bed. His left side was badly bruised, his knee swollen. Eric made his partner a pot of his favorite tea and pulled a chair to the side of the bed. "So what happened, me Light? Were the amusements of the city too much for ye?"

"We did have some excitement. Oh, this is good, thank you." Sip. "Before we went, I warned Sandriel that there might be some friction between Brussels and their Garrison, possibly extending into the Monitor station there. So it wasn't a surprise, really, when we tested their new comm portal between Branch and Garrison and got a surly fellow telling us not to bother him with our trivia. Sandriel called him a slothful lay-about and demanded to talk to his superior.

"The Garrison commander came charging into the Branch in battle mode. You know, ten feet tall with sword and shield. Forgot, or didn't know, that the building's scaled to humans. Banged his head on the ceiling and fell back on his arse. Sandriel shifted mode and attacked. We Reapers got trampled and kicked around during their debate. I opened up their new transit portal to a remote unpopulated area. Sandriel grabbed his opponent and dragged him through. I shut down the transport function. Then we Reapers picked each other up and straightened the furniture while the Angels tore up a stretch of the Gobi Desert. Quite an impressive sandstorm. I think it's been a long time since the Brussels Branch had a good laugh.

"Sandriel came back with some friends, looking every inch a winner. He says the Brussels Angel is now a Fallen. Uriel has him and is flushing his cronies out of the Garrison there. Like London, they will promote somebody who's kept the faith and let him rebuild. I pointed out they only have maybe three years to do it.

"They didn't want to hear that, so the Angels are probably mad at me again. Um, I was a little angry at them, too. I may have reminded them how fragile we are in comparison to them. Asked them what part of 'cooperation' covered bashing their allies to flinders while they settled internal disputes. Asked them why they needed a Reaper to tell 'em when a Garrison had gone sour.

"Then Sandriel and I apologized to each other. He and I are fine. The remaining Brussels Garrison Angels will probably whine to the London Garrison. Artois will scold me. Spears will scold me. Madame will scold me. Tomorrow I'll hide at the Academy to delay all that scolding. Might sit out the combat classes. More tea, please?"

Eric poured tea, helped Alan into a comfortable position for sleep, and said, "Next time take me as one of your bodyguards. You need someone who is not a convalescent when you go into unknown territory."

"Agreed," said Alan wearily. "I missed you today. My bodyguards couldn't protect themselves and me against rampaging celestials, and I couldn't protect both of them. You probably would have kept me from berating the Angels, too. Much better that we go together. Partners."

Eric took the tea tray and cups to the kitchen, did the washing-up, and returned to the bedroom. Alan was dozing, face lined with pain. Eric sat down in the chair again and took Alan's hand in his. Alan sighed and relaxed into sleep. Eric opened the bond a little to hasten healing.

The bond had been balancing all afternoon. He hadn't really noticed, hadn't been affected as Alan was when Eric was injured. Perhaps it was because Alan was so much smaller. Not as much strength to give. Seemed to have lost some weight, too. Cheekbones prominent, eyes shadowed. Fate was a right bitch, so she was. In the darkening room he gave love and hope and relief from pain, and watched the bruises fade.

 

 


	44. Nurse Collins intervenes

Eric rose early to bring Alan a cup of coffee. The morning after an injury was always difficult. These injuries were unintentional and comparatively minor, but they had been inflicted by an Angel. Somehow that slowed recovery. Which just showed who wrote the rules; someone who didn't want any sass from the underlings. Eric removed Alan's pajamas to check the progress of healing. Ribs, bruises fading and only a little residual soreness. The knee, now, that was going to be a nuisance all day. Eric rummaged in the back of the closet, where all Reapers stored the crutches and canes that they'd brought home from stays in the Infirmary. Every so often they returned the extras back to the doctors. Cane, cane, that one was his and far too long for Alan, ah, here we are. The proverbial short stick Alan always seemed to get stuck with.

Alan had pulled the sheet over himself. His rose gold chain flowed over his pale skin. "Eric, sorry to ask, but I'm going to need some help getting up and dressed. I thought the swelling would be gone by now."

"Aye. No field classes or sparring for you today. You'll never get that knee into your uniform trews. You're going to have to lecture in a pair of mine, rolled up. It's that or me kilt. I'm going to use you as an object lesson in why it's a bad idea to get too close to Angels in combat. Don't think it's currently taught, and it should be."

"No kilt, please. There's a pair of loose workout trousers in the closet. I should add Angelic injury to my lectures today, when it will be reinforced by my needing to sit on a stool instead of standing at my lectern. Oh, ow. After classes, can we stop at the Infirmary and see if they have a brace to keep it steady?"

"Let's get dressed and go straight to the Academy medical service. Might keep you from making it worse. From there you can call and ask your teaching assistants to find a bar stool chair and a wastebasket to rest your feet on."

"My guards—"

"Have 'em meet you there. They may need a check as well."  
  


* * *

  
Alan, knee iced, wrapped, and elevated, remained in the Academy sick bay. He'd fallen asleep again. Eric set his minders to guard the room inside and out. Junior Nurse Collins promised to keep an eye on him. "Rest, basically. Rest, ice, compression, elevation; you know all about that. He should be better by noon, bored and plotting escape. Can you come back here after teaching? I think he'll behave if he knows you're expecting to find him here. His knee needs to be completely healed before he leaves. He's due for his physical as well. We can get that out of the way when he wakes."

"About his escort. They okay?"

"They're fine. Guarding him is just the light sit-down duty they need. They don't have any joint damage. If Instructor Humphries tries to check out early I may ask him to stay just so they can recover fully."

"Aye, that'll keep him. After classes I will take them away for a proper meal. Alan doesn't eat enough."

"That's true, and a disadvantage. He has limited reserves and burns them off too quickly. Some day I want to do a study on Angelic injuries to Reapers. They are rare, fortunately. Tricky. Demonic injuries actually heal faster. Instructor Slingby, have you found his enemy in your Branch?"

"No. Seems to have gone silent. Likely biding till the attention's all on some other emergency. But there might be others, ye ken."

"I don't think your spy is connected to the Academy. I hear a lot of complaining as I patch students up, and none of it resonates with that sort of venom. The staff lounge is free of that as well. Also, I'm taking the advanced training required to become a doctor. As far as I can tell, and I've been listening, he has no enemies left in Medical, Research or Scientific. It's hinted that the last of them were caught in the cleanup of Judicial."

"And Alan's well-liked by the Reaper Monitors. The Angels aren't always happy with him, but they are not involved in this. Thank you, Junior Collins, and good luck with your studies. You'll rise to Senior in June, won't you? Congratulations. I must get to class. I'll be back as soon as I'm free. Kowalczyk? Tell Weissheimer you two are still hurting. Play along with Collins to keep Alan in bed. There's a fine pub lunch in it for you." Alan's guard chuckled and agreed.  
  


* * *

  
Between classes, Eric met with a number of students. The underclassmen were working hard on achieving internships in the various branches and Divisions. Upperclassmen were already looking for apprenticeships. These students seemed a more promising bunch than in some previous drafts. Eric wondered if the definition of suicide had been expanded to include drunken foolishness or stubbornness beyond common sense. But then the classes were so large, maybe these students represented the standard percentage of excellence. And where had a Scottish crofter and farrier like himself picked up a phrase like 'standard percentage?' He'd been listening to the Admins working on the budget. Whatever the circumstances, these students were good.

He encouraged them all. He pointed out that wherever they went, the food would be better. The keener their skills, the longer they would live to serve, and the more likely they would earn some measure of forgiveness. He asked for their preferences (small town, rural, big city, Division) and made notes. Knox had failed to find an apprentice last year; Sutcliff had been in one of her less admirable moods during the interviews, and all their candidates rejected the match. Eric had placed them elsewhere without difficulty.

This year Eric would have to talk to Ronnie and Grell, and ask Spears to talk to Grell as well. They could not be allowed to slack off another year, for their own safety. Grell should not enter the war with a novice in tow. Eric had a candidate for them, a strong sensible woman who would stand up for herself and win Grell's respect. When war came she would be a third year, fully capable, just needing a little seasoning, no danger to her Mentors, able to defend herself if Grell ran off and left her with only Knox as backup.

At noon he showered and dressed. He ported home to retrieve a pair of Alan's trousers, then went back to the Academy nursing station. Instead of demanding release, Alan was still sleeping. Collins took Eric to a small office and closed the door.

"Instructor Slingby. Instructor Humphries' knee is healed, and his ribs as well. Right now he's compensating for fatigue. He has a history of overextending himself, and I believe he's been at it again. Are you, as his partner, able to control that at all? Or is his superior overworking him?"

"I can help a little. They are overloading him again. It's time to bring in some more people to share his duties, although there's so much that only he can do. And it isn't going to get better."

"I have discussed this with him. He's lost weight over the last two years. He's underweight for his height and build, which could endanger you both. He says his appetite is good but he is often too busy for breakfast and lunch. Please encourage him to eat regularly, small meals, protein and fresh vegetables, just a little more than he usually takes but not so much that it makes him uncomfortable. Assign someone to bring him a cup of tea and a muffin or scone midafternoon. He'll do better all day and begin to regain the lost weight. For today, I suggest you wake him, feed him and put him in his own bed until suppertime. Then right back to bed. He'll be fine tomorrow morning."

"I'll do all I can to get him to rest and eat more."

"It's important. Right now, every time he overtires himself he draws on your bond. That should not be happening. Balancing should be rare and reserved for emergencies. Bring him back here in June when I will be a Medical Senior Nurse Practitioner. If he has not improved significantly, I can write a letter to Director Spears. If that has no effect, I will refer the case to a Senior Doctor who can register a formal protest with the full weight of Medical behind it."

"He's drawing, aye, but it's no problem, barely noticeable."

"If you were badly injured today, balancing would kill him. If he were badly injured today, balancing would not save him or you. He must have his own reserves to draw on. Eight pounds at least, twelve would be better, and adequate rest in every twenty-four hour cycle. I want his belt fastened two notches looser by Midsummer."

Eric felt a chill. He'd caused this, drawing on the bond.  
  


* * *

  
Once again, Spears summoned Humphries for a scolding. Once again, it was Slingby who arrived.

"Where is he, Slingby? I have received a complaint from the Brussels Garrison."

"Bugger 'em, Will. Alan exposed a Fallen running their roost. He pointed out a few home truths to a flock of Angels who didn't want to hear 'em. Ask Sandriel for details. As for Alan, he's in bed. Doctor's orders. Well, nearly a doctor; Collins at the Academy."

"Is there a problem with his injuries?"

"No. Fatigue and weight loss. He's approaching another collapse. Collins wants him to have time to eat and sleep. He's threatened to bring in a Senior Doctor to make it a matter of record. If that happens, they could set him down until he recovers. You wouldn't like that.

"Thought I'd warn you that Alan's going to ask to hire another intern next June. Don't go for it. He needs a couple of Junior Admins permanently assigned right now. Can you ask him to pick foreign Seniors from each War Room setup to aid in other setups across the Channel?"

"I agree. Hire the Admins you want for him. Also, I have been told that he must do the final inspection and approval of each War Room himself. That is an order from Higher Up. Obviously that is physically impossible. I have protested to Madame that the Realm will have thousands of them worldwide and one man can't do it. Others will have to be trained. Each Branch that sets up a War Room must then help the other Branches nearby, who in turn must provide help for still others. Their Directors will want a formal request from London for their staff's time. I will give a sample to one of the Juniors so he can make a template and crank them out on demand. I'll sign them as needed. It will speed things up considerably."

"Aye. I might suggest that you look to Alan's previous convalescent guards for War Room inspectors. He's trained them thoroughly in their use and in the alliances needed to run them. The Angels are going to have to start checking their own Garrisons and enforcing cooperation on their own people. Artois is smart enough to know that and so's Uriel, so somebody between them in the hierarchy is making bad decisions. Another request of you, Will. When Alan goes on these inspection trips, I will go with him as a bodyguard. His convalescent guards aren't up to an Angelic brawl. He got hurt trying to protect his minders in Brussels."

"Very well. I will want an action report on each trip. If you cannot go—for instance, if a delivery of Angel blades requires your presence—I will assign a Senior team to escort him. It will lend importance to his mission, which will increase cooperation."

"Actually, Will, you might want to supervise one of these blade deliveries yourself. If you do, you will meet Engineer Crawford, a large man with a mustache of unmatched ferocity. Behind him will be an alert and observant apprentice. That's Smithfield, the fellow who made the demon restraints. Good people to know in the future.

"By the way. I have an excellent candidate for Knox to interview at Midsummer. He knows about it. It's important that Grell not try to scare her off. We are getting closer to whatever's coming. I don't want them trying to protect a greenie when the world explodes. Can you distract her if she's in a mood that day?"

"How long, Slingby?"

"Best guess? Three years. If Grell hadn't run off all of last year's applicants, they'd have had a fourth-year apprentice by then. If she does it again this year, I will assign them my own choice. Won't be as good a match. If I let them delay another year, they'll be going into chaos with a second-year who needs a lot more protection."

Will was silent for a moment. "Thank you. I will talk to Grell tonight. Also I will intervene if necessary at Midsummer. Is your candidate one of our interns?"

"Yes. Amalia Reyes. Quiet but fierce. Strong fighter. Molly's been supporting the Reapers in the southwest corner of the floor. Jacobs, Keneally, Mountjoy and Sorenson all recommend her. Grell will respect and like her, eventually. We have fourteen Juniors reaching promotion in June. I will match all eligible Senior teams this year, even the ones entitled to a year off, same reason. Thirty-nine. Onayemi and Cortland will spread them evenly over the three shifts. They'll have a trainee too. We'll assign them another admin to help cover their paperwork so they can have the necessary street time."

"You served during the plague years. Will we have enough people in three years?"

"No idea. The Angels obviously know more than we do. Their actions tell us a little. But, Will, the people we have will be far better armed and trained than before. Better supported. Maybe we won't lose quite as many. It's the best we can hope for."

"How many did we lose in the last plague?"

"London went from ninety-six Reapers to twelve. Madame and I are the last ones left."

 

 


	45. Alan asks. Grell tells. Smitty returns to the workbench.

_May 10, 1911_

"Alan, me Light, forgive me. I drew so long on the bond to keep you quiet, safe, inside the Realm. Yer stubbornness just made ye work the harder. I did not see what it did to ye. 'Twas Nurse Collins showed me what I have done. Now we must make all right; ye will eat and sleep and every so often we will play. And we will learn not to abuse the bond, either of us. Emergencies only."

"I am fine, Eric, don't worry—"

"Ye are not fine, and Nurse-plus-three-quarters-a-doctor Collins has threatened to make that official should ye not improve toot sweet."

"I'd better get on with it, then. I think I can justify co-opting an intern from the Midsummer draft."

"Not enough. I've added a couple of admin assistants to yer office. One of 'em's specifically ordered to keep you from working through the day without eating. Will says that you are the final word on the readiness of any new War Room, probably because yer comfortable with all the gadgetry and good at hidden problems between the various services. But now he will take your recommendations for people at existing War Room sites who can do the preliminary site workup in neighboring Branches. He'll issue formal requests for their time. It'll keep their Directors happy, or at least compliant. Brock's doing a layout of the fancy new Brussels site to add to the information packet. Brussels is eager to show off its action center to everybody. They have all the bells and whistles. Let them take some of the load."

"They are welcome to it. Strasbourg, Belgium, is next. Once set up, they can also help, and as the upgrades progress more and more sites can help, speeding things up enormously. I may take on another teaching assistant, too, the classes are almost too large for my current team to keep up with the grading. I can't give up student counselling...but there are so many of them...if I don't have to make as many trips, and if I have more help in Ops, maybe I can stay later at the Academy. But the food is so bad there...Eric, is there trouble here, in London, outside of Operations? There's a tension in the Reaper offices, on the day shifts. Just a bit. When I visit out there I feel it."

"Could be me. This year every eligible Senior team with ten years' experience gets an apprentice if they don't already have one. No exceptions. Madame has given me orders to replace any qualified team unwilling or unable to teach. I've explained this to everybody. It's an uncomfortable truth. Teams who now have third to fifth year Juniors are going to take greenies into war. But I will talk to Jacobs, who knows these things."

"Maybe it's just the extra work teaching the remedial classes next month."

"Aye, could be. Now, you. Breakfast."

Slowly the planes and hollows would soften and fill. The shadows under the eyes would fade. Energy would return, and with it would come the sly dry humor that was so much Alan. Eric had not realized how much he had missed it.  
  


* * *

  
Jacobs was unforthcoming. Eric was now Management. Jacobs did not gossip to Management. Eric went to Grell.

"Well, of course there's an undercurrent. Bad things are coming. So what else is new?"

"This is something different, something hostile. Give, Red."

"Knoxie, do you believe this? Asking favors without offering something in return? What lady would not demand recompense?"

"Grell, this is not a good period of history for internal strife. It can get the wrong people killed."

Grell dropped the drama in favor of a good gossip. "Fine. Yes, there is a constant low-level tension here. Most of it's the office managers on first and second shifts. Partners, Anders and Brandon? Breakup in progress. Brandon wants to transfer to Supplies. He's sick of desk work and has been talking to Frannie Ferris on Thursday nights. It's physical activity, lots of travel, and does not require Reaping. Even better, they have delivery trucks from a new Division, Automotive, which he finds fascinating. He's requesting interviews. They may hesitate to take him, with his unfortunate record, and they do prefer to recruit directly out of the Academy.

"Anders defines himself as a Reaper and considers everything else beneath him. He hates that he can't Reap anymore. He really hates being stuck in a job which on third shift is handled by an Admin. He really, really hates that the Admin does it better than he does. Remember how upset Alan was when he was benched? Anders is double that with a cherry on top. He hates all of us who are still Reaping.

"He wants the clock turned back. He wants to return to Liverpool with Brandon, working as a Reaper and Mentor. He knows it's never going to happen. He's become sour, resentful, and mean as a snake. He must be hell to live with, because Brandon's actually planning to move out and move on.

"So first shift has a poisonous office manager exuding malice, second shift has a manager who is fed to the teeth with his partner and his job, and there you have it." Grell threw up her hands. "You're Personnel. You fix it."

"Carefully," said Ronnie. "Anders blames you for cancelling his mentorship of Samuel Terry. He resents Terry, thinks maybe he complained to you. Doesn't help a bit that Terry has flourished under the mentorship of Forbes and Brewster. He probably isn't terribly happy with Spears, who broke up his triad. He was finally benched because Cartwright got sick of covering up his incompetence. He especially dislikes Cartwright and Sykes and their Junior. Actually he doesn't like anybody much."

"It's a nuisance," added Grell. "The worst part of the day can be trying to get office supplies from him. He likes to delay our paperwork to make us stay late. One thousand petty annoyances. I'd challenge him and chop him into chutney if thwarting him wasn't so much fun. Yesterday he told me he was out of collection forms, oh too bad, try again in two days. As if the third shift Admin would ever let the stocks sink below a full week's supply! He'd moved them up to his highest shelf. I pointed to them and told him to hand them over or I'd snatch him bald-headed. Someday he'll have a final blowup and desert into the human realm. Can't happen too soon."

"They were a good team once," said Eric. "Alan tried hard to give them time to recover. I could maybe recommend Anders to... Well, no. I won't dump a known problem into someone else's lap. Damn. My only option is to warn him to keep his personal problems out of the office and then fire him if he doesn't. I'll ask Alan if he's seen any site where Anders might fit in."

"Don't. He'll be trouble wherever he goes," warned Grell. "He's become the sort of malignant little sod who plays mean-spirited, cruel pranks and then complains that his target can't take a joke. Here, he already knows I'll kick his arse if he makes the interns cry. It restrains him. Is there a dive around here that needs a bad-tempered bouncer? A warehouse that needs a night watchman? A lighthouse in need of a keeper?"

Knox flipped a knife at a target pinned to the wall. "Talk to Spears. We've had toxic employees before, lots of 'em, back when the Branch was expanding. He dealt with them. See what he says. He'll probably tell you to recommend Brandon to Supplies as soon as they ask, and to tell Anders to behave or leave. Get rid of both if you can, we won't need any problems at home when things get bad. And, of course, you can replace 'em with pleasant Admins from Operations' pool of part-timers. Choose cute ones, okay? And hire in another team of training Reapers from your waiting list."  
  


* * *

_  
January 5-June 15, 1911_

On January 5, 1911, Smitty returned to his bench and tools with a detailed design for his Supplies heavy-duty hand scythe. Engineer Crawford simply held out his hand; Smitty handed the papers over and waited. There were several Hmms and Hahs. The mustache bristled and twitched. Crawford motioned Smitty to sit down. Together they went over every line and detail, with Smitty explaining each deviation from the current Supplies norm. Crawford called in the Artificer in charge of the production of the current model. Smitty explained again. There were more Hmms and Hahs. The Artificer thought carefully. He decreed that this scythe could indeed be produced on the current line with current materials, with a few necessary adjustments for this more robust version. By then three other Engineers were leaning over the wall. Smitty explained again. Hmm. Hah. Possible. Definitely possible.

Finally, Crawford handed back the design. "Approved, Smithfield. Now for the most important part; the hardest part. Build it."

Heart overflowing with joy, Smitty built. He forged the blade eight times before he was satisfied with his work. He experimented with oak and ash, finally settling on American hickory for the handle. He cut the blanks with a bandsaw, smoothed and sanded them, carved the channel for the tang and its additional bar of scythe metal at the end. That would give extra porting distance and balance the whole. He oiled and polished the wood till it glowed. He lightly scored and crosshatched the middle of the haft for improved non-slip handling when wet. He added a leather overstrike protector, tooled with a scrollwork design to improve grip when prying with the blade— _we know we shouldn't do that, Smitty, but some crates need special tools to open, and those tools sometimes arrive packed inside the crate because stupid is universal._ (Supplies Senior Frances Ferris, 1911, Fez, Morocco.)

He honed and polished the heavy blade mirror-bright. On the nineteenth of May, he presented the finished scythe to Engineer Crawford. He quivered in his shoes while Crawford conducted a detailed inspection of every inch and facet. Smitty followed as Crawford took his scythe to the testing area, ran several astoundingly advanced combat exercises with it, ported in and out several times, then used it to move a nine-foot metal-lathe station to a distant destination and back.

"Smithfield, call in your Supplies Manager. Let's see what he says about this."

The Supplies Manager arrived with Frances Ferris. "She had a lot to do with this and deserves to see the result. This it? Ah. Pretty. But pretty is as pretty does. May I test this a little? Oh, this is good. This will port twice the weight that the present version does, easily. You've ported that machine with it? How far? May I? Frannie, want a turn?"

With some difficulty Frannie was persuaded to give up the scythe. Her Manager handed it over to Crawford with equal reluctance. "This meets and exceeds our requirements. Prototype approved by Supplies. I hope it passes inspection on your side." He turned to Smitty. "Good work, Junior. I look forward to congratulating you on its acceptance. I also want the first one that comes off the assembly line."

On May 22, 1911, Engineering Apprentice Edward Smithfield presented and defended his scythe and design to an extended Approvals Board. The examination was meticulous in its investigation of procedure, as the presenter had previously been disciplined for unapproved activity. All was found to be in perfect order.

On May 23, the scythe was disassembled. The blade's design, alloy, forging and finishing was approved by Metallurgy. The blade stood up to extensive testing and passed all trials with ease. A randomly chosen Senior from another Division was asked to reassemble it with only the specs as a guide. After a quick review of the design, she put it together correctly in three minutes with the minimal tools provided. The scythe was noted as repairable in the field if parts and a maintenance kit were available.

On May 24, Production once again stated that manufacture would be easily arranged. Design declared that the scythe was legal in all aspects and components. Materials reported that all necessary wood and metals were easily available in bulk. Supplies testified that this heavier design met and exceeded their requirements, functioning well beyond the capabilities of the current standard model. All participants were instructed to return the next day for the final demonstration, discussion and field trials.

On May 25, at the end of a very long day, the Board approved the new scythe. All stood to formally declare their agreement of promotion. Engineer Crawford's mustache bristled with pride as he attached the small gold star of rank to the lapel of his apprentice's lab coat.

Smitty staggered wearily into the Scythe and Skull that night with the treasured pin on his collar. Dutch received him with a whoop of triumph and led the entire bar in a toast to their newly promoted Artificer.

During the following week, Edward Smithfield (Scythes, Junior-Fifth) sat the exams for the last set of classes of his initial five years of training. His scores were impressive. He was automatically registered for the second half of his decade's training to become an Engineer.

Two weeks later, Artificer and Senior Engineering Candidate Edward Smithfield, inventor of the Smithfield Demon Restraints, developer of the Smithfield Supply Scythe (Heavy Duty), co-designer of the Reaper-Issue Scythe-Knife haft, applied to the London Garrison to have Angelfire bound to one of his Heavy-Duty Supply Scythe Blades.


	46. In which Engineer Crawford has the last word

The manager of the London Cafeteria absolutely could not resist the opportunity to show up the manager of the Academy Cafeteria—lazy, untalented shirker, feeding the entire population year-round according to the needs of the newly awakened, who only required bland foods for their first month, pshaw! He was only too happy to detail Senior Fanshawe to produce two breakfasts and two midday meals according to the diet sheet provided by Nurse Collins.

The breakfasts were served at 0530 in London. The lunches were served in London or delivered, in a large, fragrant basket, to Alan's Academy office at 1230. The aromas brought Alan's Teaching Assistants, wide-eyed, to the hall outside the door while he and Eric ate. The portions were generous. Before beginning his meal, Alan carefully set aside the surplus he knew he could not finish. There were scuffles as the TAs polished off these treats. Not that they could not eat their fill in their own Cafeteria, but the food there was so tasteless. Alan sighed that he could not afford to feed his TAs and Eric's.

Fanshawe, waiting to pack up the plates, observed all with a discerning eye; checked out the fare in the Academy cafeteria; decided on his own to increase Mr. Alan's portions slightly and include a few tempting side dishes. He reported to his Manager that poor skinny Mr. Humphries was shorting himself to feed his assistants, who would fight to the death for a bite, the merest bite, of his sandwich. Why, he himself could witness that the food available to those poor souls appeared to be composed largely of flavored water and boiled sawdust. Surely it hadn't been so bad when he was a student.

The London Cafeteria Manager, having once been snubbed by the Academy Cafeteria Manager as a mere shoveler of swill to untutored brutes, delicately suggested that the London Cafeteria, nay, the Realm itself, owed Mr. Humphries sufficient nourishment to bring him back to perfect health. Ultimately the noon deliveries fed all the TAs who could fit into the room. Two or three of them resolved to apply for positions at the London Cafeteria upon graduation. Passionate, heartfelt descriptions of the heaping sandwiches and rich, savory soups and stews spread through the school, for all that they were ordinary fare in London. The Cafeteria Senior began attending the Thursday Night open table at the Scythe and Skull.

The manager of the Academy Cafeteria protested loudly. Eric handed him the diet sheet; doctor's orders, so it was, and nothing like it to be had on campus. "Alan must eat. He can't eat what you offer. Our interns will be returning for cramming and final exams soon. They've been eating in London most of this year. They won't like going back to the pap ye serve. We've been treating them with respect, ye ken, and they're not so cowed as they were. They may no longer sit quietly for a diet of library paste."

Eric was secretly dreaming of starting a food fight near Exams, using all the upperclassmen who would be moving out by the middle of June. He was quite put out when the Academy food improved suddenly. The Manager had taken his outrage to the highest authorities and learned that they were planning to replace him. Ah, well. Alan would have scolded him mightily. Worth it, though. A wodge of overcooked parritch in the bowl of a soup spoon would demonstrate the dynamics of a catapult ever sae well.

Alan thought of overpopulation and famine in Hell, and unreported Ravenings across the far reaches of the human realm.

* * *

 

"Smitty, can I see your new scythe?" asked Iris. "Frannie says it's wonderful. I'm curious about the extra porting ability. How many injured could I port to the Infirmary with it?"

"Outside," said Ten Hagen, and out they went. Scythes were forbidden in the pub at all times. A number of the Thursday Nighters found a quiet spot out back. Smitty summoned his scythe and presented it to Iris.

"Oooh. Nice. Fancy handle; what does that hide? A little heavy but not bad. Not my fighting style, though. Yes, I could take three people or even four, depending on their weight. How can I get that power added to my own scythe? What gives this one the range?"

"Quantity of scythe metal. Big blade with long tang ending in an extra bar in the bottom of the haft. It balances the blade and adds to the porting capabilities."

Sorenson took the Supplies Special from Iris, hefted it with approval, handed it off to Fairbairn who found it a very nice match to his size and strength.

Iris summoned her billhook. "Can you load extra metal in this handle?"

"May I hold it? Hmmm. Gonna make it handle-heavy. Can you adapt to that?"

"How much extra weight?"

"Couple of ounces, maybe? The haft's not that big."

"Could get maybe four to six ounces in my mattock," said Dutch.

Smitty paused. "Let's step back a bit here. Suppose we want to add porting power to anybody regardless of the scythe they use. Some are all blade and not much handle. Some handles are long but narrow. Some would be weakened too much by the addition if we drilled and filled. But if the additional metal were not in the scythe but on the Reaper..."

"Belt buckle," said Dutch. "It's not against the skin, not going to get lost. Swap it out if you intend to go drinking."

"Bicep cuff," said Iris, "worn over the shirtsleeve and under the jacket."

"Shirtsleeve wouldn't be adequate protection, maybe, unless we put the metal into a canvas or leather cover, or maybe a coating of enamel."

"Clasps break," said Fairbairn. "Might catch on claws, too. What if we sewed it into the jacket?"

"No," said Jacobs. "Too much weight, with the knives and the demon detector and the record scissors there. Shoulder seams are already stressed. Best to hang it off the belt."

"A buckle won't do," said Smitty. "Not enough metal to make a difference, really, unless it's big enough to dig into the stomach. A larger amount, in a heavy canvas or leather holder to button or snap on the belt. Just slip it off and banish it to storage when not wanted. You could keep a box of them in the Branch to summon as needed. Less risk of contact toxicity and drunken porting. But all this assumes that the Reaper can use not just her scythe but additional scythe metal on her person, can use both together as a single unit, and have both arrive together at the same time and place. Too many unknowns. Kinda messy if it fails. I'll investigate tomorrow in the lab if I have time. I'm sure this same question has been asked many times before. It's too easy. There's going to be a good reason that we're not already doing it."

"Let me know what you find out." Iris waved and walked back to the pub. Most of the other Reapers followed. Sorenson stayed to inspect the scythe.

"Dutch," said Smitty, and paused awkwardly.

"What, Smitty?"

"When we get kicked out of Junior Housing in two weeks, will you want to room with me in Senior Housing? Or must you room with your new Partner? I'm not sure how that works."

"I prefer to room with you if you haven't someone better lined up. I'm going to be paired with another singleton, Steve Terry. Nice guy, very competent; I'm stronger and he has better distance vision, so we each bring something to the parnership. But he has a roomie already. I kinda thought you might want somebody from Scythes to study with."

"No. There are only a few registered for the second five years, and we don't know each other very well. You keep me grounded in day-to-day practicality, whereas the others are becoming somewhat detached theoreticians. Not that that's bad, but they aren't producing useful tools for street use." Smitty shrugged. "I want to keep Reapers safe. Anyway. I need to know if I should ask for a single room. If we want to continue as roommates I can apply for a double, unless you want to go for an apartment."

"Not really. Too expensive. I can't cook. Do we want to pay for a kitchenette when it's easier to eat at the Cafeteria?"

"I probably shouldn't cook either, now that I'm working in the Stinks and Booms Lab. I scrub up hard, but I could still accidentally poison us both. The apartment would give us separate spaces for sleep and study, though, so I wouldn't be dependent on the Common Room for homework when you need to sleep. Don't know what their Common Room is like, either. Maybe someone will invite me in for reconnaissance. I need to know if I can study long hours and do complicated assignments without being harassed. The next five years are going to be filled with very difficult classes. Not many attempt them and only about half of us pass the exams."

"New Senior Reapers do tend to get the third and split shifts. I will probably be sleeping while you are in classes. If not, I bet I'll be so bushed that I can sleep through anything you do, including the construction and testing of a motorcycle up and down the halls."

"A double room would be cheaper. You need a better watch and I need to save for some specialized tools. We're also due for a visit to Spectacles. But few Seniors are students. They might resent a request for quiet in the common rooms."

"Your need to study is the most important consideration," said Sorenson. "Let's go now. I'll take you into the Commons for a look. Also, there are several smaller rooms in each wing for gatherings. No problem for the Thursday Nighters to lay claim to one for reading and games. We'll keep things quiet for you."

"Eh. I will punch the nose of anybody who becomes a pest."

Dutch turned to him. "You will not. I will. Newly promoted Senior Reapers are considered overconfident, overtrained gladiators. We're expected to get into dominance disputes. Nobody cares. You, on the other hand, need to stay out of trouble until you finish your training and win your promotion."

Sorenson handed over the Supplies Scythe. "We'll just let everyone know you are a scholar who invents weaponry that saves lives. If somebody stupid leans on you, I will issue a challenge. Dutch will sell tickets. Frannie of Supplies gets the popcorn concession. While we square off, Garraway or Slingby lines up for Round Two, with the rest of the Thursday Night Seniors in queue. We pound the idiot until he learns manners. Agreed?"

"Agreed, within reason. I will defend myself if caught alone or cornered. Remember that I drill daily with every known scythe and fighting style. I am not required to submit to bullying; I'm just not supposed to go looking for fights. You could spread the rumor that Scythes Seniors are walking poison, you know. Hit us and your knuckles rot off. It's not entirely untrue, especially during the Metallurgy rotation."

"Fine. You still tell us if anyone bothers you. Remember the classes you took from Humphries and Slingby. Internal Predation is Bad. Deal?"

"As long as you don't become what you're trying to prevent. Deal."

 

* * *

 

Engineer Crawford had the last word, of course. This was Right and Proper and the Natural Order of Things. "Hah. So he's willing to stay with you? Brave man. Good thing, though. We are not solitary animals. I will speak to the Housing Authority. Engineering Candidates are rare; they've forgotten the special requirements. I will refer them to the layout of my own quarters.

"You will have adjoining single rooms with ensuite bathrooms. I'll make sure Housing only charges you for a double. It's going to be important that you and he sleep on opposite sides of a wall when you do your Radium and Advanced Metallurgy classes. Lead sheeting on that wall. I'll warn Maintenance to use Lab cleaning procedures on your room and bedding. Scythes will pay for that. If they bill you a surcharge for cleaning, bring it to me. Hmm, yes. I've had this conversation with them before. They probably remember that. Hah.

"Mr. Ten Hagen is not to use your shower or spend too much time in your room. You are not to handle his food or personal belongings. Make a habit of using one of the smaller common rooms for extended conversation, recreation and study. Pick a corner with good lighting and comfortable study furniture. Start a rumor that it's unhealthy for anyone else to sit there.

"You'll be using layers of protective clothing in the workshop and labs, of course. For his safety we must be very careful indeed. We'll run you through detectors every time you leave the workshop, that's standard for all toxic rotations, and if the needles even twitch you'll go back through decontamination. With proper care, he should receive no exposure at all. Still, if your friend shows any signs of discomfort or confusion, get him to the Infirmary. Warn his Reaping partner, too. Unsuspected contamination will slow him down and endanger them both in the field. Your healing abilities are at a constant extreme high level now. His aren't. They may gradually increase, but we don't want them to be elevated suddenly.

"You should be no danger to anyone else, either, not that they have to know that if they seem willing to interrupt your studying. Hah. The warrens of Senior Housing do conceal some unpleasant individuals.

"You have my express permission to defend yourself, by the way. That is an order. Yours is the second strike and the final blow. All attacks, even if only verbal, will be reported to Scythes Senior Montgomery as soon as possible. His duty is to seek patterns in these aggressions. They often lead to demands for illegal access, materials, and devices. We prefer to step in before that stage.

"As for carrying extra scythe metal to enhance porting, that will be covered in Advanced Metallurgy. Long answer: it must be contained in the same haft as the blade, in contact with the tang if not a part of it. Separate or external additions work until they don't. When they don't, it's disastrous and a monumental cleanup. Short answer; you'll spend your first two weeks of class computing the ballistics on the results of one person failing to keep two separate Scythe samples operating in sync."

 

 


	47. Midsummer's Eve Gather, June 21-24, 1911. Year Seven of Ten

_Midsummer's Eve Gather, June 21-24, 1911. Year Seven of Ten  
  
_

The 1911 Gather was extended over four days for the convenience of Angels and Reapers. Midsummer's Day, June 22nd, was chosen for the coronation of Britain's new King George V and Queen Mary. Reapers from many countries travelled into London with the foreign dignitaries and their entourages. London's Senior Housing could not hold them all. It seemed only sensible to use the Gather fields as an off-duty rest area. Gather Master Holbert and his team outdid themselves.

A preliminary setup began on the morning of June twenty-first. Four large Gather marquees were erected to provide a place for the weary to sit and snatch a restoring cup and bite before heading back into the human realm. Two more were set up next to the gymnasium to take advantage of the shower facilities; these held cots and blankets for Reapers on rest shifts. The Cafeteria had another marquee, and the third was general seating. Portals were opened to several foreign hubs to facilitate communications and travel. Setup of the rest of the tents would continue until evening.

Midsummer's Day, June 22nd, was an all-hands callout for the Coronation. The Gather itself would begin early on the twenty-second, providing a base of operations for Reapers from many foreign countries who were assigned to dignitaries attending the Coronation. The Gather would continue throughout the night so that its celebrants could port in and out as their schedules required. The Reapers' own ceremony would occur at nightfall, after the Coronation parades had finished and before the humans began the more serious partying around the City.

The Cafeteria tent would be ready on the morning of the twenty-third to feed those who were scheduled to oversee the Royal Progress through the City.

Breakdown would begin after breakfast was served on the twenty-fourth for the convenience of those working the Coronation Review of the Fleet. The six original tents would remain. Not until the last foreign Reaper had returned home would the Gather finally shut down.

All the excitement and stress meant a greater possibility of misunderstandings and disagreements. Alan and Eric were scheduled to be on-site for all four days to defuse any unfortunate situations. The first of these centered on the meeting tent.

Senior Smithfield's request for an Angelic modification to a Reaper blade had produced a flurry in the Garrison dovecote. There was a 'how dare they' faction, a 'sounds like fun' faction, and a 'not touching this with a battle lance' centrist group. On the first day Alan managed to get Smitty together with a few Angelic Artificers who were interested in functionality rather than politics. He arranged for refreshments to be delivered to their table at regular intervals and left them to it. He diverted to Eric any Angels who wanted to interrupt to argue about policy.

Eric removed a few Angels who were spluttering with indignation, handing them over to Color-Sergeant Bourne before fights could start. Here Eric learned an interesting fact; these unusually pugnacious Angels were chicks. They belonged to a new company at the Garrison. There were two sorts, the Created and the Uplifted. This group was visiting the tents on a break from their predawn duties. It was barely 0930 and already Bourne obviously needed a drink. Eric gave him coffee. In return he received a pledge of eternal gratitude and a sad story.

The Garrison had received a Flight of young Angels of both varieties, shortly after Colonel Artois had been promoted. Bourne explained that the Uplifted had the advantage of retaining some experiences and memories gained from human life. The Created were, um, well, new; meant well of course, had basic training and liturgy down pat, sounded good in choir, looked spiffing on parade; but not many social skills just yet, and a general unwarranted feeling of superiority to the Uplifted. They all were haughty, ill-mannered, ill-led dimwits who needed a few good battles to teach 'em who the real enemy was.

Eric ordered a storage tent set up for Bourne to use as exile for misbehaving twits. Two disgusted Senior Angels from Smitty's discussion group volunteered to keep the disgraced inside.

The Uplifted considered themselves promoted from humans who had Done It Right. The Reapers were humans who had Done It Wrong. The Uplifted presumed to snub the sin-stained Reapers, forgetting any manners their sainted mommas had smacked into them. The Senior Reapers would not tolerate disrespect from barely fledged Angels. Eric intervened when he could, rescuing the surprised and battered Angels from the educational process. One of them made an inappropriate and unwelcome demand of a Cafeteria Senior who was holding a pair of roast lifters. She and her Junior responded at once. Eric applied a hammerlock and marched the bleeding, soup-soaked Angel away before a Hey Rube call could bring out every knife in the kitchen.

The Created weren't sure they wanted to associate with anyone whose soul was human in origin. The Created considered Reapers debased and damned cockroaches. The Uplifted were obviously the same lower life form, with pretensions. The Created snubbed everybody and duly learned that Divine origin did not protect them from their fellows, their Sergeant or the Reapers. There was a passionate Angelic donnybrook out behind the tents. Eric called upon the vengeful Cafeteria staff to bring a fire hose to break it up, but not until all the participants had bruises to remember it by.

The exile tent was nearly full. The kids were at least well-drilled enough to obey Bourne; there were no escape attempts. Eric thought that a pity, as the Senior Angels on guard looked like they would welcome a chance to provide some training. Another disagreement broke out in the seating area.

Finally enough was entirely too much. Alan decked an Angel, dropped out of battle mode, straightened his jacket and pulled rank. Dragging his stunned opponent by the collar, he formally requested Bourne to take his insolent adolescents home. They and all their Flight were disinvited from the Gather grounds for the year. This was a Reaper celebration. The Reapers had every right to enjoy it. The Garrison's Seniors were welcome to attend, of course, but the Gather was not to be used as daycare or a school of etiquette for terminally rude squabs unfit for polite company. A memo to that effect would go straight to Colonel Artois with copies to Uriel and Madame Administrator. Eric murmured something about Grell attending the Gather the next day. To Alan's surprise, though not to Eric's, Bourne apologized and agreed to remove his fledglings at once. He gathered his bashed-up, shame-faced, dripping recruits and left.

Alan sighed. "I've worked so hard to improve cooperation with the Garrison. Why would they do this to us? I hope I haven't destroyed your friendship with Bourne."

Eric snorted. "Ye've done him a great favor, me Light. Bringing them here was no idea of his. The Garrison's expanding. There are new officers too. A leftenant, far too conceited to listen to his sergeant, assumed this was a rest area set up for and by the Divine Realm. He's the one ye flattened. Nice hit, by the way. With him unconscious, Frank's in charge. He's welcomed your order to dump the chicks back in the nest."

"Inexcusable. The food services are furious. So's Holbert. So am I."

"The self-important kiddies thought we were staff, not their hosts. D'ye think Frank doesn't know what Grell would do to anyone who patted her ass and told her to fetch him a drink? And all the foreign Reapers are unknown quantities who might be equally explosive. He'll report this to a captain with a brain, or at least an ounce of experience, and some remedial correction will be applied to the deserving. The Garrison owes us big for this training session. Send yer memo. Artois will want it for disciplinary action."

 

* * *

 

_June 22, 1911_

The Reapers expected a comparatively quiet day, with most of the Londoners eschewing their ordinary amusements in favor of pomp, parades and celebrations. The Death lists were short for the daylight and early evening hours. The Angels were present to deal with the demons attracted by the politics, pride and vanity that naturally accompanies governmental pomp and ceremony. The glittering spectacle was entrancing enough that the demons were willing to declare a temporary truce with the Angels, all sitting on the rooftops along the parade route. Some long-time foes were even sharing programs.

William had requested that Cortland schedule Sutcliff into Westminster Abbey for the Coronation. It was a gesture of affection, and also a plot to keep Grell from hindering Knox's acceptance of a new trainee. The fabrics, the costumes, the jewelry, the ceremony thrilled her top to toes. She followed the return procession to Buckingham Palace. By the time her shift was finished at 1600, the apprenticeship was finalized.

On that day Eric matched thirty-nine graduates to London Teams, including Reyes to Knox. Seven other Branches likewise held interviews and accepted talented trainees. The process expanded into a second large tent. Eric went to Senior Gather Master Holbert and requested a third tent for the following year.

"There's no more room here, sir, but we can open a portal on a pleasant uninhabited area and pitch a tent or two there. Will that do?"

"Aye, admirably. It's only for a couple of years more, then the Academy class sizes will likely shrink a bit. After that we might use a portal exclusively so these Gather tents can return to general seating and workshops. Whatever ye'd like best, Gather Master. Congratulations on yer promotion."

Eric was glad to give Cortland and Onayemi a trainee. A little early for them, Onayemi only having four years as a Senior, but better they entered the bad times with an apprentice capable of self-defense. It allowed Alan to assign another Admin Junior to help with their paperwork while they scheduled all the new Mentorships to protected areas. One hundred seventeen Reapers. Seventy-eight Seniors with thirty-nine trainees. More trainees would be working with single mentors while the other mentor worked the demon sweeps.  The only unmatched Senior teams were those with less than five years' experience. They would not be able to keep all the greenies surrounded by non-teaching Senior Teams. He needed to start his lists for next year. At least Grell had been reasonable about her new trainee. She'd been in alt about the Coronation, and Molly had asked for all the details. The two had spent the next couple of hours in a deep discussion of that most formal of ceremonies.

Alan guided students applying for internships to Research, Admin, Collections and Supplies. One went to Medical, two of his TAs to the Cafeteria, four gadget lovers to the Monitors and one especially clever youngster directly to Franklin and Cole. Six requested Spectacles. Alan found Lawrence Anderson watching a pickup football match. Anderson accepted the applicants after a short conversation which was probably mostly about football. Alan was pleased with this toe in the door. Spectacles, before the increase in class sizes at the Academy, had been a closed static system of centuries-old employees. Only the growing population had made Anderson consider expanding his workforce.

At 1130 Alan took three hopefuls to the Scythes tent. While Scythes did not take interns, they did occasionally interview promising undergraduates for future apprenticeships. Alan turned his students over to the same Senior who had interviewed Smitty seven years before. As the Senior took the applicants off to the food tent, Alan took a moment to look around.

The Scythes tent displayed the new Smithfield Supplies Scythes Marks I and II (already affectionately known as the Crowbar, a folding blade set below a three-inch jimmy spike) and offered Demon Restraints to Angels. Smitty himself was resplendent in a blindingly white lab coat with the golden pin of rank on his lapel. His new glasses were smaller wireframes to fit under safety masks, bifocals for close work, with detachable magnifiers. Also present in the tent were the newly promoted Seniors Ten Hagen and Terry, a well-matched Collections team. Alan congratulated them all on their advancement. He allowed himself a flush of pride in their success. Had it already been seven years since he'd brought Smitty and Dutch to London as interns? Five years since he had moved Terry from a toxic triad to excellent mentors? They'd all done wonderfully well. He hoped that this year's crop of interns would prosper as well as these three. He wished Smitty the best of luck in completing the next five grueling years of his training, and asked him to give his compliments to Engineer Crawford on the success of his apprentice.

Leaving the tent, he circulated through the Gather, greeting those who had been his students and interns and teaching assistants, now Juniors and newly promoted Seniors. All seemed happy and doing well. Time to get a quick lunch before his next group of candidates arrived.

So far, so good. The other shoe would drop in the fullness of time. Today, however, was a gift to be savored and remembered in the scent of rosemary.

 

* * *

 

On their way back from a noon-to-1600 split shift in London, Ten Hagen and Terry heard a shouting match in the Scythes tent. Somebody wanted a new Supplies model and somebody else was extremely upset about it. 

"Oh, _shit,"_ said Terry, who was not a man given to common vulgarity. "Brandon's been hired by Supplies. He must have moved out. Anders is right off the rails."

"We need to get them out of there, too many weapons in that tent," said Dutch, and started to run. Before they reached the tent, Reapers and Angels started running out. Two were dragging Brandon, who was bleeding and shouting. Three were surrounding a screaming, pushing Anders, trying to keep him away from his ex-partner. 

The Scythes staff ordered everyone else out, then collapsed their tent to keep their stock away from the combatants. They ported out from under the canvas to set up a defensive perimeter. 

Terry ran to urge Brandon away. "You know how crazy he is, move! Go!" Brandon was refusing to leave. Ten Hagen turned toward Anders. Fairbairn and Fitzwilliam were coming in from the left, and Humphries from the right. "Anders, calm down! Stop this!" 

Anders screamed, "Humphries, you bastard! All of this is your doing! Your fault!"

"Anders, calm down-"

Anders pulled something from his coat, something short and blunt and ugly. "From Hell, Humphries!" He fired point-blank.

As Humphries fell, Anders spun and shot wildly, randomly at the Reapers around him, then fired at Brandon. The gun jammed. Ten Hagen dropped him with a single punch to the solar plexus as Slingby had taught him years ago. He stooped and snatched away the weapon. Fairbairn was down. Moreau was down.

Smitty grabbed the gun from Dutch. He checked the barrel. "Damn! Dutch, these bullets are scythe metal. Get the doctors in here. You, sir, roll Humphries over on his side—yes, plug the exit wound. Seniors, keep those others still until the medics can clean the wounds. They won't heal without treatment. "

Chandra Gupta knelt, whipped off his tie, bound Anders' bleeding hands behind him. He looked up at Dutch. "Van and I will deal with this one. Go get the doctors."

Slingby ran up and dropped to his knees, stripping off his gloves. "Alan, hold on!" Fitzwilliam was tearing open Humphries' shirt, having pulled off his own gloves. Ten Hagen ported to the Infirmary to raise the alarm. Humphries was past saving. But others could be helped.  
  


* * *

  
Oh, this was not good. He had awakened blinded by the Light. There had been shouting and screaming and pain. Obviously something very bad had happened. Had happened to him. No one else was here beside him. He hoped that meant that the others were all safe. Reapers were, after all, hard to kill. Like rats and cockroaches. They had to be.

Reapers stood neutral between Heaven and Hell.  Reapers gathered all souls, reviewed their life records to see if extended life would benefit all their Realm, and released them into the Light. There they would be Judged and sent on to whatever they most needed or wanted according to what they deserved.

Reapers could not enter the Light unless they had earned Forgiveness. No Reaper currently active had ever heard of Forgiveness being extended to one of their kind.

Alan believed that Thatcher and McCain had been Forgiven; but he knew that he believed it because he desperately wanted it to be true. Not believing it would have meant he served a cruel and vengeful Highest. He could bear what a cruel and vengeful Highest would do to him; but not that such punishment would be visited on his partner and his friends.

A faint flash of memory; he had been here before, once to be condemned; once again, begging mercy for his partner. The Light had not been so close. This was the second time he had been scythed. His third death.

Now Alan knelt outside the circle of Light. He had made it to his knees but no higher. There was a round hole in his chest, which, he thought, was an odd shape for a scythe wound. Will's pruner? Had he died in a sparring accident? He straightened his back and bowed his head before the True Judge. Softly he repeated his daily prayer, a request for his partner's health, happiness and safety. Many said that Reapers' prayers were ignored while they served and forbidden once they entered Hell. Perhaps this was his only chance to be heard.

**Alan Humphries.**

The weight of that voice rocked him downward. He caught himself on his hands. He straightened again. Not the Highest, but a very high-ranking Archangel revealed in fullest splendor.

_Hail Azrael._

**You have earned a choice, Reaper.** The voice did not sound particularly happy about that.

_Sir?_

**You may rest. Or you may return to your Realm to complete work that remains undone.**

As always, a choice between two options that were not fully explained, probably because both had unpleasant facets. Alan really wished the rulers of the Realms would stop doing that. In some ways, they were more alike than any of them would care to admit.

_If I ask for rest, will I lie forever chained in the flames of Hell? If I ask for work, will I eternally spin cobwebs in a forgotten corner of an unknown Branch?_

There was a flicker of amusement.

**We have enough spiders, Reaper. If you desire rest, you will sleep.**

Most reapers spoke of sleep as the starving spoke of food. But no mention of where, how well or for how long. Bad choice, and not the one they wanted him to make. Besides, he would not leave Eric alone in the grief and madness of a broken bond. How could he leave Eric at all?

**If you return it will be as yourself. There will be pain, immediate and future. There will be sorrow. Always, there will be work. If you earn it, you will receive another Choice at the end. What would you wish, Reaper?**

_I wish to return to my partner and my place. But thy will be done._ It usually is, one way or another.

**It shall be as you have chosen, Reaper.**

Was there a hint of approval? The Light receded, or perhaps Alan was falling away. Alan reached after it, then dropped his hand. It was painful to see it go. Or was the pain in his chest merely physical?

The pain grew. Light, a comfortingly ordinary light. The screaming had faded to whimpers. Still some shouting. His hand; someone had his hand; there was another bare hand on his chest. He was on the floor? The ground? His vest and shirt open, and someone was trying to grant him time.

"Alan, me Light, stay with me now, the doctors are coming, Fitz is giving you time, Alan, open up to the bond a little more. Me Light, me Light, hold on...

_It's all right,_ he tried to say, _they want me here. They always get what they want.  
_


	48. Everything changes

Artificer Smithfield had ordered everyone to clear the attack area so he could summon the scythe-metal bullets and bullet fragments. He'd placed the gun and the retrieved metal into an empty knife box and ported away.

A group of Thursday Nighters gathered behind the Cafeteria tent.

"What happened?" demanded Iris. "We take our eyes off him for one minute in the safest place in the Realm, surrounded by friends and Angels, and he walks into his own murder! What happened?"

Samuel Terry said bitterly, "Carl Anders happened."

"The office manager? That nasty man? Why would—"

"Because he's been getting crazier for years. Brandon and Anders were my first Mentors, six years ago, and he was going mad even then. Their previous Junior left them after one year. They were pretty useless, jumpy and panicky in the field, botching Reaps, that sort of thing. Humphries noticed and reported it to Slingby. Slingby checked us out during a shift when they were both at their absolute worst. Next day, Spears split up the triad. I was handed off to Forbes and Brewster, for which I have thanked Humphries and the Highest ever since."

Marisa Solway agreed. "Anders blamed Humphries, even though Humphries was the only reason he still had a job. He had his ups and downs, but the downs kept getting deeper. I think we can assume he's the one who was writing to Judicial accusing Humphries of various crimes. Research must have noticed and recruited him to spy. At some point they passed that gun to him."

"Gotta be from that lab Research hid under the dorms at the Academy, the one the Angels filled in," said Dutch. "Lucky they only had the bullets that were already in the gun. Smitty said it's a short-range, low-powered load. Forbidden to us. Designed to be used close up by demons on Reapers and Angels."

Marisa continued. "Anders gloated when Humphries was benched as well. He was quiet for a while. Maintenance reported that he occasionally came in early, during third shift, and poked about in places where he had no good reason to be, but he didn't do anything actionable. Then Brandon decides he can't live with the constant venom anymore, starts looking around, finds a new job and new friends in Supplies, announces he's moving out. Is that about it, Sam?"

"Pretty much. Carl lost his last slipping grip on sanity. Decided to kill Brandon and Humphries and brought the gun to the Gather."

"I think Humphries is still alive," began Iris.

"He took a scythe-metal chest strike, Iris," said Mitch Sorenson.

"He looked mighty dead to me before I went for the doctors," said Dutch, "but they worked hard on him before they ported him out. Must have thought there was a chance. Sam, this is not your fault. No way we could have stopped this."

"He was alive," insisted Iris. "Slingby was still upright and rational."

"If he is still alive, it may now be easier to keep him that way," said Roberts. "At least his closest enemy is gone. It will take Hell a while to place a new one within London."

"Except now he's working outside London so often," said Liz Brodie, Slingby's AA. "I meet with every new pair of bodyguards Mr. Slingby hires. I tell them what to watch for. They're good, but they wouldn't be here if they were fully fit. Mr. Slingby says he's going along the next time there's a War Room to inspect. That will help."

"I'll be eligible for promotion next year," offered ffoulkes. "Mr. Slingby sort of promised me the option of returning to Operations, though he may not remember that. If I can guilt him into creating me a security job within the department, I will use it to protect them both as much as possible. We shouldn't forget that Slingby's a target too. Later I might be able to win a permanent bodyguard position."

"That's good," said Sorenson. "Try to take a partner into that job. Then when Humphries admits he needs competent guards, he'll have a fit team right there. It will make it easier to keep an eye on Slingby as well. If they split up so can you."

"Agreed," said Brodie. "Humphries' convalescents won't do for wartime. He's using them to seed London practices into other Branches, which is working well enough, but as defense they've already failed at least twice. You notice his current pair weren't around when all this happened. He probably offered them the day off and they were stupid enough to take it. I'll be asking them about that; the rules are, if he tries to ditch you, you smile sweetly and stay right behind him. If Slingby survives he's going to kill them. I'll hold his coat while he does it."

"Any other casualties?"

"Four bullets in the gun. Humphries, Fairbairn and Moreau injured, the last bullet jammed in the barrel. Anders is a lousy shot, didn't really aim or allow for recoil, just blazed away after Humphries went down," said Dutch. "This might be the first time he's ever used a firearm. His hands were badly damaged by the backblast. Last I saw, Chandra had him pinned with Vanderveldt coming up fast."

"Spears had a discussion with a Garrison officer and some of his senior Angels," said Sorenson. "I think he turned Anders over to them. Judicial's still under Angelic overview, I guess. The traditional penalty for a scythe attack outside the dueling field is a public execution. They probably want to avoid that."

Marisa sighed. "Liz, we have to get back to the office. You're Personnel now. I'm Ops. Brock and Depoy are our seconds. Neither of Mr. Alan's new Senior Assistants have the experience to fill in, but at least they'll have his schedule. If Birch or Garraway try to override you, tell them to sit down and research who's Eldest after Slingby; you're Senior to them with more experience, and I'll back you up. I'll write up an emergency distribution of duties to give to Mr. Spears. Also I'll submit an opinion that if Mr. Alan survives, it's past time for him to train a Number Three."

"The command structure in Collections has always been far too shallow. We have a legal problem, Mari. I'll call Sarah in Auditing right away and tell her that Ops and Personnel are suddenly operating under Admin managers. That violates the 1906 Accord between Auditing, Admin and Collections. Mr. Slingby's Reaper assistants are nowhere near ready for that level of responsibility. I'll ask her to transfer the title to Director Spears until Mr. Slingby returns. You go to Cortland for a pair of Reapers to guard Spears. If we lose him too, the Branch collapses."

"I'm off duty until first shift," said Mitch Sorenson. "MacLean and I will take him till midnight."  
  


* * *

 

It was Fitzwilliam, coatless and gloveless and bloody to the elbows, standing aside as the doctors ported away, who had asked the crucial question. "Director Spears, who is your second-in-command?"

Spears paused for a moment. He had disposed of Anders without actually handing him off to the Reapers of Judicial; he hoped that Grell would not consider his promise broken. Now he must rebuild his Branch's organizational chart.

Senior Section Manager (Documentation) Solway arrived at a quick but controlled pace to announce that he must assume at least nominal leadership of Operations and its subordinate services. "It must be headed by a Reaper, sir, per Auditing. We can keep it running until you appoint another or until Mr. Humphries returns. Auditing affirms your position." As she spoke, he was aware of two Seniors stationing themselves behind him. He checked glasses. Ah. Sorenson and MacLean. Quite so.

"Find me Senior Holbert, please, Mr. ffoulkes. Senior Administrator Solway, return to your office to compose a general announcement. Humphries and Slingby unavailable, information to be issued as we receive it. Anders has been surrendered to the Angels for judgement. You and Brodie are confirmed as temporary supervisors. Reaper representatives will be provided shortly. Have a Junior bring it to me for signature. I wish to minimize rumor."

"Very well, sir. Memo in thirty minutes."

Holbert appeared, pale and angry. "Yes, Director?"

"Gather Master. We will proceed as scheduled. By tonight we should know if names need to be added to the list of Absent Friends. Appoint a Reaper to recite the Verse of the Grass. You yourself will light the bonfire. News will be posted as we receive it, in the area between the food and seating tents. Please assure all that we will provide breakfast as promised for those who will work overnight. Can you ask Maintenance to help raise the Scythes tent? For now, I shall await further information and answer questions in the back of the meet-and-greet marquee."

"Mr. Sorenson, if you will be so good, find me Senior Jacobs."

"No, sir. My station is here, with you, until I am relieved for third shift. One moment, please. Senior Quirke! Can you whistle up a group of interns and trainees to serve Mr. Spears as messengers? Thanks. Sir, let us move into the tent now."

Spears turned back to Fitzwilliam, whose jacket was last seen wrapping Humphries' wounds. "Mr. Fitzwilliam. You are out of uniform. Go clean up, find your partner and return to me here. You, sir, Junior Howe. Find me either Cortland or Onayemi. Schedules must be reworked."

Holbert returned and escorted Spears and his entourage into the tent, where a table and chairs had been arranged and the space around them cleared. Howe arrived with Onayemi, her two assistants and her schedule books.  "Senior Onayemi. Please set up at the end of this table. Your schedule needs substantial revision. Mr. Howe, now find Senior Cortland to come help her partner."

A flock of youngsters entered, shepherded by Quirke. Clever of Sorenson. These newly appointed interns and newly matched trainees were as yet unscheduled, free to do his bidding.

"Ah, Senior Quirke. Thank you for these messengers. Please return to the office. Go Upstairs. Report to Madame Administrator all that has happened today."

Spears turned to the youngsters. "Who's first? Miss. You will port to the Infirmary. Identify yourself as my messenger, charged to await an update on the condition of my Seniors. Do not allow them to shoo you off. Tell them if they refuse you the update I shall send Agent Sutcliff for it.

"Next? Sir. I want Senior Collections Agent Jacobs in here now. He is"—Will checked Jacob's glasses— "by the Supplies tent and heading this way. Next? Miss. My compliments to Maintenance, and ask them to erect a message board in a central location. Post a notice saying that information will be given as soon as available. All schedules stand as assigned until further notice.

"Mr. Jacobs. My condolences on Mr. Fairbairn's injury. You are now Eldest in this Branch. You will assume the public face of Personnel in Mr. Slingby's absence. The employees of London are now yours. You will protect them from others as you have previously protected them from me; yet you must see that discipline is maintained. Remember that you may have brought this on yourself by denying Slingby information when he asked for it." Spears was beginning to understand and even share Madame Administrator's taste for _schadenfreude._

"Your Senior Admin Assistant is AA Elizabeth Brodie. If not for a decree from Auditing, she would be doing this job. Follow her advice. You have two younger Seniors, Birch and Garraway, taking care of day-to-day business and Reaping part-time. Learn their duties. Inform Scheduling of your change of responsibilities. AA Brodie will notify them when your new responsibilities conflict with your Reaping schedule. Ask Section Manager Solway to assign a Documentation Admin to fill Ander's position on first shift until you select a permanent replacement. That replacement must be an Admin, as Brandon's replacement will be. Then review Slingby's list of transfer requests from Senior teams with training experience. Ask Senior Brodie to explain the interviewing and hiring processes. Welcome to Management.

"Ah, Senior D'Acres. Thank you for your prompt arrival. You will assume Mr. Humphries' many responsibilities until further notice. He has two AAs, unfortunately inexperienced, who will give you his schedule and whatever information they can. Seek help from Senior Admins Solway of Documentation and Brock of Bookkeeping. When witnessing handovers of Angel Blades to Scythes and Supplies, Mr. Fitzwilliam or another large Senior Reaper must accompany you. You will supply dignity and ceremony. Your escort's purpose is to inspire mortal fear and polite behavior.

"Humphries' two bodyguards have failed in their duty. Have Jacobs return them to their home Branches tomorrow. If Humphries survives, we three shall consider who should replace them.

"You will Reap in those hours that Humphries spent teaching. Have Senior Onayemi schedule a meeting with myself and Brock tomorrow to introduce you to the War Room.

"Next messenger! To the Academy offices, please, and inform them that Instructors Slingby and Humphries will not be available to teach until further notice. Ask them to notify their Teaching Assistants. Newly graduated TAs will resume teaching until the rest are ready to take over. I will make it my duty to inspect them in the coming weeks. If any Academician tampers with the contents of their lessons, I shall be displeased.

"Next messenger! Sir, a notice for the announcement board; all of Humphries' and Slingby's TAs who have just graduated and taken employment in London are now asked to resume teaching until their replacements are fully instructed in their materials. Their assigned Seniors are to adjust their schedules accordingly. Then find Mr. Garraway or Mr. Birch, whoever is covering the office now. Get a list of all those TAs, find them and brief them and their Seniors. They will all be here at the Gather, having been matched or placed today.

"Senior Cortland. The team of Sorenson and MacLean are my guards for the rest of second shift. Please assign a first shift team. Third is normally my rest shift. I will notify you if I need to be active during those hours. Please assign teams without trainees, youngsters of seven to nine years of seniority. After the Gather we will consider what defenses will be appropriate when I must leave the office."

The first messenger returned. "Director Spears, the Infirmary reports that Seniors Fairbairn and Moreau have been treated. Moreau has been released. Fairbairn will stay overnight. Assistant Director Humphries is in surgery. With your permission, sir, I will return to the Infirmary to await further word."

"Agreed, Miss— Reyes, is it? Thank you, Miss Reyes. Take a boxed supper from the food tent. I fear you may have a long wait."  
  


* * *

  
The doctors pulled Alan away from him. They whisked the gurney away to Surgery. He was alone and bloody in a cold room with chairs designed to cause pain. _Go home,_ said the room, _there is nothing you can do. Your beloved is in the care of others. Let them work._

The bond pulled upon his strength. He was on the floor. Better than those chairs, though. He crawled to a corner and propped himself upright. Time crept by. The bond drew upon him, but there was no sense of Alan, none at all. He concentrated on the flow. This was no time for the old madness, not yet. He would not break as long as the bond continued. He would not.

Someone knelt beside him. A hot mug was pressed into his hands. "Drink." Herbal tea, mint, heavily sweetened. He sipped, and drank, and slowly focused. "Nurse Collins. Senior now? Congratulations."

"When did you last eat, Slingby? Last full meal?"

"Breakfast. Matching trainees all day, no lunch."

"Give me the mug. Time to stand up. Let me help. There now. Steady? Lean on me. You need food. You need to clean up and eat. The bond is burning off your reserves. Come on."

"Alan? Can't feel him, hear him. Can't even feel his pain anymore. Scary."

"That's temporary. He's deeply unconscious, under anesthetics. In surgery. Shouldn't be alive, but he's a fierce fighter. Some part of him feels your presence, you know. Come on."

Eric went, washed up, ate what he was given, donned pajamas, and was helped onto a bed with another mug of tea. "When your partner comes out of surgery he'll be put in the next bed. For now, you need to give yourself over to the bond. Don't force it. Let it do what it needs to do."

"Ye've been studying this?"

"Yes. You two are my patients as long as you teach. They called me in from the Academy to sit with you; the English translation of that one is, to keep you from tearing the place up and interfering with patient care. They don't have the staff to deal with a violent Reaper. I told them I'll dope you if I have to, but that it might affect the balancing. So behave, please. There's an Elder Doctor with your partner who is expert in this sort of thing, too."

"Will he live?" The bond was pulling steadily. He shivered.

"Give me the mug. Lie back." Collins produced a heated blanket from some secret cabinet and wrapped Eric up. It felt wonderful. "If he's not dead yet he probably has a decent chance. No idea why he's still with us. The bond is obviously part of that, but still. Here's what I know. Chest strike, slightly right of center. He was shot with a scythe-metal bullet which fragmented. Some of the bullet exited through his back, but not all. The remaining metal bits are seeking his life. A filthy wound. They're cleaning it out now. Lie quiet. Don't try to get up or talk. Waste no energy. Tea on request, and warm blankets if you feel cold. Bedpan also. Sleep if you can. I'll be here to wake you when he comes out of surgery."  
  


* * *

  
Smithfield ported to the door of the workshop, presented his credentials and was admitted. He then broke several regulations by porting directly to his workstation and startling his Engineer. 

"Smithfield!"

Smitty laid the knife box on the workbench, took a deep breath. "Sir. Three injured, one of them probably dead."

"Who?"

"Mr. Humphries, chest wound. Senior Reapers Fairbairn of London and Moreau of Calais."

Engineer Crawford opened the box, lifted out the pistol, and looked at the metal shards. "Despicable." He stood up and walked over to a nearby workbench. "Gunny, will you come look at this abomination?"

"What have you got, then? Let me see. Oh. Are those bullet fragments? That's vile. Tell me about this."

Crawford lifted an eyebrow at Smithfield.

"A domestic altercation occurred between two Reapers in the Scythe Gather tent, sir. It became violent. We threw them outside and pulled down the center poles to keep our display stock out of the fight. Other Reapers tried to keep them apart. Senior Anders drew this pistol from his coat, deliberately shot one man, then fired at random into the people around him. The fourth bullet jammed in the barrel and the backblast burned his hands badly. He was taken down and handed off to the Angels. I took the pistol, waited till the injured had been removed, and summoned all the scythe metal fragments from a radius of thirty yards. I brought them here at once before anyone could demand to confiscate them."

"Lucky the barrel didn't explode. This was cobbled up by someone completely ignorant of how these things work." Engineer O'Bannon sat down at the workbench. Picking up a pencil to use as a pointer, he entered Lecture Mode.

"This pocket pistol is a .442 Braddell-designed Ulster Bull Dog. Black powder, open cylinder, five chambers. Twenty yards maximum accurate range if used properly, which this wasn't. Based on the Webley British Bull Dog, same frame, but given a longer grip to improve control and therefore accuracy. Used by the Royal Irish Constabulary and now beginning to enter civilian and military use. This pistol has not been modified in any way. The cartridges, however, were emptied and reloaded with bullets made of scythe metal by someone who slept through Basic Metallurgy.

"Bullets are made from lead, a soft and malleable metal. They expand slightly when fired, for a seal to improve range, and the barrel's rifling gives the bullet the spin it needs for accuracy. Any metal which is hard enough to hold an edge is too hard to use for a bullet. The first scythe-metal bullet fired from this gun scraped the rifling and deformed and fouled the barrel. It would have been the only near-accurate shot this gun could fire. The second bullet scraped, deformed and fouled the barrel further, the third did the same, and the fourth jammed because the barrel was no longer true. The propellant would have blown back out of the rear of the cylinder and burned the hand holding the gun. Possibly blew off a finger or two; there's blood on the grip. The barrel could have exploded but in this case did not."

Engineer O'Bannon indicated a bullet fragment. "D'you see this edge here? These bullets were scored so they would expand and shatter inside the target. Doctors will be using our new X-Ray machine to find all the pieces in the victims' wounds. Good thing you brought these here, Artificer. We don't want this idea to spread." 

"Hah." said Crawford. "Better to destroy this rather than surrender it to Judicial. They are under new management now, but I'll still not give them anything they might pass over to Research. Which has to be where this originated. I don't trust any of 'em, for good and sufficient reason. Gunny, my apprentice is known to have taken this. Can you remove it from our care?"

"Yes. Say no more. Unless this is required for a trial, I will dismantle the gun and melt down the metals. In any case it will not leave my control. None can deny that a firearm using scythe metal is the proper responsibility of this Division and specifically my workbench."

"Thank you, Engineer O'Bannon. Artificer Smithfield, good work. Return to your duties at the Gather." 

"Yes, Engineer Crawford. Thank you both for your teaching and advice."

 

 


	49. Eric, what happened?

The Elder Doctor sat with a mug of tea. "Well, Doctors, now you've all seen it. As clear a case of Divine Intervention as one might ask to witness. Not mere Angelic Interference, no indeed; a top-level Entity had a finger in this chest. That was a brand-new right atrium and ventricle, with a suspiciously sound vena cava and pulmonary artery, given the bullet fragment resting behind the heart. The lung is a right mess but time will heal it, even from scythe metal exposure. I like your X-Ray machine. It did make it easier to remove all fragments with a minimum of poking around."

The Senior Surgeon nodded. "Dangerous if one is over-exposed, but yes, sir, very useful in cases like these. The patient will need rest and pulmonary therapy. Nurse Collins may be able to supply that, as his Academy duties are not onerous. Have to schedule around his advanced classes, though."

"Humphries won't be going anywhere for a while," said another. "Arrangements can be made. Collins wants to be a Doctor, does he? Poor deluded fellow. Let's encourage him. We need somebody else to share the call schedule."

"Sir, about the bonded partner. Is there anything we could or should do for him?"

"Feed him, hydrate him, keep him warm. Make sure he stays in bed for three days while Humphries' essential healing continues. He'll be able to walk and sit and still endure the balancing for a week after that, but he will be very weary. Don't send him home. They won't rest well if they're apart. If he's overloaded too soon, if he becomes exhausted, the balancing will fail. It's happened before when a superior has ordered a partner back to work because he is not obviously injured. Be ready to defend him from any such demand. When the patient is beginning to walk, the partner can go back to work part-time as long as it does not weaken either of them. Please involve me in any decisions. I want to follow these two closely."  
  


* * *

  
Spears stood by the unlit bonfire. The announcements had been made, the trainees and interns introduced—so many; extending into full dark and beyond. Partnerships and handfastings were waiting to be completed before the fire. Grell stood beside him, his guards slightly behind to left and right. How shocking to need guards in this place, at this time, among these Reapers and Angels. The list of the year's fatalities was in his hand. He had not asked the Angels about Anders' fate. Anders' name would not be honored, this year or any other. Nearby, Holbert waited with a deadly calm. The crowd was unusually large and unusually subdued. Will waited.

Behind him, a rustle. "A message for Director Spears, sirs. Mentor Sutcliff, a message for Director Spears. Mister Sorenson, a message for Director Spears, stop being an ass, Mitch."

Grell held up her Angel blade for light. "Trainee Reyes, here please. Mitch, she's my trainee and one of Will's messengers. Let her pass."

Will turned to see a pale, weary Trainee. She looked like several hours in a cold uncomfortable chair, but had endeavored to brush out the wrinkles in her worn student suit. She came to attention and met his eyes with commendable steadiness.

"Director Spears, the Infirmary sends its compliments. Mister Humphries has survived surgery. His recovery is expected to be extended but routine. He and his bondmate are resting reasonably comfortably. Mr. Slingby's presence will be required in the Infirmary until such time as Mr. Humphries is released to home care. For status updates and further information, please apply to Senior Nurse Practitioner Theodore Collins at the Academy. Message ends."

And thus, in the light of the blade, Amalia Reyes became one of the few individuals in any Realm to see William T. Spears smile.  
  


* * *

  
They brought Alan in looking as dead as any Reaper, and considerably deader than most. Carefully a team of medical workers arranged him on the bed to Eric's right. A IV line was in one arm. A tube ran from Alan's chest down to a noisy machine on the floor. Occasionally it gurgled. Eric did his best to ignore it. But Alan was there, and breathing, and there was a tiny hint of him in the bond. He was coming up through the anesthetics. There was pain, aye, and a dim confusion, and a totally Alan tinge of exasperation. Collins was looking closely at the dressings.

"Ted? I can feel him a little."

"Mm. Yes, he's surfacing. That's what we want. Good. Mr. Humphries. Can you hear me? Please move these fingers. Squeeze my hand, please. Toes? Wiggle them. Good. Your partner is here. Can you feel him through your bond?"

Alan hummed a faint affirmative.

"Very good. You are a lucky Reaper, sir."

Very weakly, but very clearly, Alan said something rude about an Angel. Collin's eyebrows flew upwards. Eric chortled.

"There you are, me Light. Rest now. Ted, he's cold. Can you please wrap him in one of those heated blankets?"

"Absolutely. Thanks. You, too, I think. Here we go, Mr. Humphries, let me tuck you in."

The warmth echoed over the bond as Alan slid into sleep.

"Eric, when next he wakes, he will likely not remember that. Don't push him on it, it will distress him. We do occasionally see angelic tampering with severe injuries, and the Divine Ream does not permit those memories to last."

"Aye. It was a very bad wound, I know."

"You never heard me say this. It was unsurvivable. But here he is, mind intact and body healing." Another blanket fell over Eric. Oh, that was marvelous. A wee taste of Heaven, so it was.  
  


* * *

  
Some of Alan's worst memories involved waking up in an Infirmary bed, in pain, without his glasses, surrounded by blurry unidentified people who did not have his well-being at heart. On the first morning the nurses and orderlies learned not to wake him suddenly with loud noises. The doctors learned that certain phrases inspired fight-or-flight responses. All learned not to trust his blood-pressure readings if they were taken within a half-hour of waking. The various needles and tubes required careful negotiation. Alan was deeply suspicious of strangers addressing him as 'we' in hearty cheerful tones.

He was small but very strong. Eric had his hands full in that first difficult day when Alan was conscious but confused and not at all happy about that tube in his chest and that mechanical device on the floor. A routine quickly developed where Eric was always the one to wake Alan while nobody else was looming over him. Once Alan was reassured that he was not a prisoner of Research, he would apologize for his reactions. Once he stopped trembling and had his glasses on, Eric would introduce the medical personnel waiting to see him. 

On the second day Alan knew most of the medical staff, could recognize their voices and shapes if he could not make out their faces, and accepted that they meant him no harm. Or at least he accepted that if they hurt him too badly Eric would yell at them.   
  


* * *

  
Alan was dozing, comforted by the sound of Eric's voice and a dose of painkillers. Eric was explaining his theories to someone. Alan did not know or care who else was there. Eric was beside him, holding his hand. Nothing else mattered as long as Eric was safe and well.

"...I know that it's hard for a Reaper to care about human concerns. But when you see that Academies in all these countries are full to bursting these last few years, and indeed are expanding, and in Russia they are opening new campuses, then we can predict a sudden disaster in about three years, followed by another worse one after another three or four years, and a continuing massive population die-off in Russia for years after that.

"I'm watching the newspapers as it all develops. I know more or less when and where the war will begin. Reading about it puts me off me feed. I have seen disasters strike here before, twice when the Black Death went through. Reapers died in as great numbers as the humans. Not from the disease, but the demons. We need to be as ready as we can be."

"Ambulances," whispered Alan. "Collins?" He was very short of breath. The machine on the floor gurgled and chugged.

"Mr. Humphries? Are you with us?" Definitely Collins. Good.

"Ambulances. Talk to Supplies. Using automobile trucks for deliveries now. Ford Model T frames. Refit for ambulances to transport wounded from battlefields." Wheeze. "Frannie Ferris, Thursday nights." Wheeze. "Portal transport."

"Mr. Humphries, you should rest. We can talk later."

"Alan, me love, I heard your idea and will pass it on. Ted, it's important. These little thoughts of his are never to be dismissed. You pass it up your line of command. If you can help me to a telephone, I'll call Supplies and get you some names. Frannie Ferris attends the Thursday Nights at the Scythe and Skull."

Alan decided that rest was indeed a very good suggestion...surely someone had already thought of field hospitals. Maybe using the Gather marquees...perhaps a joint effort with the Angels...  
  


* * *

  
"Eric. Wha' happened?"

"What do ye remember?"

"Nothing. Gather....internships...nothing. Pain. Doctors. Was it demons?"

"No, no demons."

"Research?"

"No. Well, sort of, maybe. Ye're safe, me love. No Research here."

"Anyone else hurt?"

"Two, not badly."

"Tell me."

Eric considered a quick edit of the facts. Then he remembered the promises he had made, the bonfire and the Elder as witness, and Eliza's last lecture, and decided upon truth.

"If you start to turn blue I will stop. We don't want Collins to scold us, or start talking about doping you up again. Good?"

"Good. Harder not knowing."

"Here's all I know, which isn't much; I didn't get there until you were down. Carl Anders shot you and two others."

"Two...?"

"Collins says they 're fine. Moreau went home the same day. Fairbairn stayed overnight, concussion."

"Anders. Gun?"

"Yes. This is nurses' gossip, so this information may not be correct, ye ken? Anders started a fight with Brandon at the Gather. Pulled a gun, started shooting. The bullets were scythe-metal. The gun burned his hands. Somebody decked him and tied him up. He was handed over to the Angels because they're running Judicial at the moment. He's gone, can't hurt anyone else."

"You're not hurt?"

"I felt the bullet hit, I felt the bond break. My heart...You were dead, oh God, Alan, me Light... Then suddenly the bond was back. I caught it and held you. Fitz controlled your cinematic records. He gave you time, like a Reaper spares a human of enormous value to the world. The doctors arrived. They got you into surgery, cut out a few bits of scythe metal, and here we are. For further information, we'll both have to apply to Grell, who should have all the gossip by now. We've been here three days." 

"...my interns...settled?"

"Ah, yes, this was late afternoon, I'd gotten all my trainees matched. I'm pretty sure you would have been done as well."

"This...machine?"

"Yer lung is shredded. It's keeping it inflated or something like that. Hands off the tube."

"Thank you..." and Alan drifted off into sleep. So did Eric.

 


End file.
